


The Open Door

by soulfulsin



Series: Mammals [4]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-09-15 11:11:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 39,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16932198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulfulsin/pseuds/soulfulsin
Summary: Continuation of the Mammals series. Webby continues to deal with the aftermath of Bad Touch; Lena's father materializes, Glomgold is trying to exploit Della's reappearance, and Della has some PTSD of her own to deal with after being abandoned on the moon for ten years.





	1. Chapter 1

If Huey and Dewey could commandeer a submarine, then so could Webby. She'd awoken that morning after horrific nightmares regarding her grandmother, the Bloodhound Gang, and Lena leaving her. The latter had come true, somewhat, because when Webby awoke, she found herself alone in her room. Lena was nowhere to be found.

Webby slipped through the house like a ghost. The boys were with Della and she wandered into the kitchen to grab supplies. A spatula smacked her hand and she looked up. Her mother, Wren, was standing in the kitchen cooking an omelet. Webby froze. She'd forgotten that her mother had more or less moved in, over Scrooge's objections.

"Where do you think you're going?" Wren asked.

Webby knew Wren was supposed to represent parental authority and she knew she was supposed to respect her. Yet she couldn't. She didn't know what to make of the woman, who was neither her guardian nor a familiar figure. Webby cast a quick glance through the kitchen and into the dining room, where she found Lena nursing a cup of coffee and looking like she'd barely slept.

"Hey," Lena called. "Sorry...I was afraid to wake you."

She wasn't sure why, but the need to find that stone burned within her. She had to speak with her grandmother again. In her nightmares, her grandmother judged her and found her wanting. In her dreams, her grandmother refused to leave her alone and Lena never materialized. It was like her subconscious still blamed her, even though Webby knew for a fact that it wasn't Lena's fault.

"Granny doesn't-didn't-normally let her drink coffee," Webby said.

"She wanted coffee," Wren said with a shrug. "And she looked like she had a rough night."

"Nights are always rough," Lena said, huddled over her caffeine fix. "C'mon, sit next to me."

Webby shuffled over; she felt like she was wasting valuable time that could be spent locating that stone. Still, it was good to see Lena after having worried that her girlfriend had vanished on her. Webby sat beside her and pecked Lena on the cheek. Lena turned her head so that their beaks met and they nuzzled each other.

"I...I want to ask...but I don't think I've unlocked that level of trust yet…" Wren said as she put the food out on the table. The boys entered, followed by Scrooge and Della. So Webby had been right. Whatever the boys had been doing, it must've been with their mother. Louie glanced at Lena, shrugged, and then sat on Webby's other side.

"You lassies look like you could use some more sleep," Scrooge commented, frowning at them. "Are you all right?"

"Sleep's overrated," Lena said and then punctuated her remark with a yawn. She covered her mouth, at least, although her eyelids also fluttered. If it hadn't been for the mug before her, she might have fallen asleep at the table.

"I need to have a talk with you," Scrooge said and brushed his hand against Lena's. Lena jumped, spilling her coffee. "Nothing bad! I don't think I've been fair on ye, lass, since before the Bloodhound Gang incident happened. And I've been putting it off for far too long."

"What about the Stone of Remembrance?" Webby burst out, jumping to her feet.

"The stone of what now?" Dewey asked, staring back at her.

"The Stone of Remembrance is supposed to allow you to speak to the dead," Webby said. "It used to be connected to a pond, but the pond caved in."

She folded her arms across her chest and then unfolded them, thinking she looked too sullen and rebellious. "We haven't gone adventuring in a long time. Not since…"

She swallowed hard, a lump in her throat. Scrooge reached across the table and squeezed Webby's hand. Louie was watching her closely and they both thought of the kiss in the spaceship. ( _"Take_ _ **that**_ ,  _Lena."_ when he'd held her before she'd fallen asleep…)

"Would it give her closure?" Wren asked, finishing up setting up the table and putting all the food out. She sat opposite her daughter.

"I was hoping the funeral would do that," Scrooge said, frowning as he watched Webby pour herself coffee too. She didn't normally drink it and wouldn't have done so if it hadn't been for Lena. Lena reached for her free hand after she'd poured her cup and squeezed.

"Is there any reason why we're not going on adventures?" Webby pressed. Being around the house gave her too much time to think and to barely sleep.

"She's right," Huey said. "It  _has_ been a while. Not since Magica…"

He trailed off, wincing.

"I don't want to give you false hope," Scrooge protested. "The Stone is just a myth, Webbigail."

"Like the Spear of Selene?" Dewey said and Della groaned, facepalming.

"No, not like the Spear," Scrooge huffed. He tried to meet Webby's eyes. "Webby, I know this has been hard for you. But I don't know if you're ready for an adventure yet."

"What if I went along?" Wren said. "I used to be a SHUSH agent, way back when. If you needed support or something like that. If you don't, that's okay too."

Scrooge scrutinized Webby. He looked like he was about to refuse again but something deterred him. The boys were looking at him expectantly, except for Louie who had never really liked adventuring. Lena was staring at her phone and scrolling through Instagram beside Webby.

"All right," he said. "After the funeral, we'll see how you feel."

It wasn't a 'yes', but it wasn't a 'no', either. She supposed she'd have to take that for the time being and hope for better later. In the meanwhile, she still had little to no appetite and she poked at the eggs and waffles that her mother had made. Normal conversation broke out, except for her, Lena, and Louie.

"Magica?" Webby murmured and Lena jumped, looking around and grabbing a fork as protection.

"Where?!" Lena exclaimed, springing out of her seat and looking around. "Where's Aunt Magica?"

"I meant your nightmares, Lena. Not…"

"Oh," Lena said, settling down and huffing, undoubtedly feeling foolish. "Right. Of course you did."

"Magica won't be able to get into the manor again," Scrooge said confidently. "Calm down, lass. It's all right.  _Were_ you having nightmares about Magica?"

Lena nodded, not meeting anyone's gaze. She stared down at her waffles.

Scrooge removed his hand from Webby's to focus on Lena. "If you're going to pick at your food, maybe you ought to eat later when you're hungry, and we can talk now."

"Sure, fine," Lena said, looking unhappy. Scrooge gestured for her to follow him and they departed; the boys and Webby watched. Webby's stomach roiled. What could Scrooge possibly have to discuss with Lena? Lena wasn't going anywhere. And Scrooge was letting her stay in the manor, wasn't he? What if he changed his mind? No, he wouldn't. He couldn't. Her stomach was tight and she pushed away from the table.

"I'm not hungry either," she announced and Wren frowned, looking over the bountiful spread before them that she had prepared. The boys were eating, at least.

"May I be excused?" she asked and her mother nodded. Webby didn't know where she was going, though. She wanted to look up more about the Stone; Scrooge hadn't explicitly discouraged her from researching her, though he hadn't encouraged it either.

She wasn't looking forward to her grandmother's funeral. It felt like she still lived here and everywhere Webby went, the hallways were haunted by her grandmother's presence. It was inescapable and whenever she thought about Mrs. Beakley, she felt guilt over letting the Bloodhound Gang hurt her. Everyone she'd spoken to disagreed, but Webby still felt like it was her fault. She just wasn't going to share that with anyone.

For years, she'd taken solace in the library and its many books. No one was paying her any mind, so it should be easy to slip out of the house and head for the Money Bin. It occurred to her that her sneaking around outside had led to the Bloodhound Gang getting ahold of her, but she wasn't wandering around at night. Besides, if the others wanted her, she wasn't going to be terribly hard to find.

That didn't stop her from being paranoid and grabbing weapons, which she didn't normally do. Her grandmother had left her the key to the chest and in there, she'd found all sorts of tools that she wouldn't have had access to. This time, if someone came to prey upon her, she was more than ready.

She reached the front door and it chimed. Loudly. It hadn't done that yesterday.

"Webbigail?" Scrooge snapped and Webby whirled, feeling guilty although she hadn't done anything. At Scrooge's side, Lena slumped, looking more tired than before. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Webby attempting to sneak out.

"I, uh, I was going for a walk," she said. "I'm not allowed out on my own anymore?"

"You weren't allowed out on your own in the first place," he said. "You're only supposed to go out with the boys or Lena."

"I can take care of myself," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

"I know you can, lass, but I would feel better if you went with someone," he said. He wasn't bringing up the Bloodhound Gang, but she felt their presence like an almost physical barrier between them.

"Where were you going, anyway?" Scrooge asked.

"I wanted to go to the library," she said, rocking back and forth. Louie had told her multiple times she was a bad liar, so she didn't even want to attempt it. "The archives."

"You're after more information about the Stone, aren't you?" he asked and she nodded, not meeting his gaze. He sighed.

"It's no use telling you to let go, is it? You're a stubborn one."

His eyes narrowed. "All right. You can go. With Lena. And take one of the boys with you too. Preferably Louie, before he ends up glued to the TV again."

"He isn't going to want to go to the library," Lena pointed out, smirking.

"Better the archives than in the house watching Ottoman Empire for the umpteenth time," Scrooge said, shaking his head.

Reluctantly, Webby left with Lena and Louie. She had wanted to do this on her own, but it didn't look like anyone was taking any chances. Perhaps she should just be glad that she was allowed out at all. She tried not to fume. It wouldn't do her any good and anyway, she was getting what she wanted. Just...not all she wanted.

* * *

Gladstone shouldn't have let his hormones get the better of him. He'd permitted his affection for Magica, which might have been magically exaggerated, to go to his head and to other parts of his body a bit lower down. He owed Lena an apology and a chance to make amends. He felt guilty for how Magica had treated her, even though it wasn't his fault. When Lena had needed him, he hadn't been there for her. No wonder Lena didn't trust adults.

After his escapades with Magica, he was in hot water with Uncle Scrooge. Scrooge wouldn't tell him where Lena had gone, only that she was "out". Therefore, he decided he'd find something that Scrooge and Lena would like and try to charm his way back into their good graces. He was, after all, a consummate professional when it came to the charm.

Magica had settled down in his flat; it was either that or she could take up room in abandoned studio apartments or underneath the theatre. The lattermost reminded her too much of Lena and the former wasn't appealing to either of them. Gladstone was lucky he didn't need to worry about rent or finding a place to live. One just happened into his lap.

Now, if his luck held out, which it usually did, he thought he knew where to start looking for Lena. Something told him he ought to check in on the Money Bin...after he made amends with Scrooge, that was. He wanted to be on his good side before he materialized out of nowhere on Lena.

And he thought he had just the thing for both of them…

* * *

"Well, I can't just turn you back into a duck, now, can I?" Magica huffed. She was alone in the apartment since Gladstone was out being a do-gooder. Poe fluttered before her; she hadn't seen him in years and now he was rearing his head. He still couldn't speak, but she'd always known what he wanted. The few times he'd checked in on her before being trapped in the dime, it was about Lena. Lena this, Lena that. If he'd cared so much about her, why hadn't he stayed together with her mother? Magica rolled her eyes.

"The dime is off-limits," Magica continued. "I'm persona non grata at McDuck Manor."

She folded her arms across her chest to regard him. "Well, if you think you can steal it back, then I'll find the spell to transform you into your normal self. Good luck, brother. You're going to need it."

She sneered as Poe took flight. He wouldn't have any more luck with this than she did. Plus, he couldn't even explain himself. Why should Scrooge hand out his lucky dime to Poe? The raven would have to steal it without a pawn like Lena. Of course, she could always explain the situation to Lena and Lena might be able to get Scrooge to cough up the dime out of pity. But that would require seeing her niece again. Traitorous bitch.

She guessed it came down to whether she loved Poe enough to help him. And whether Gladstone's good nature was rubbing off on her. She preened her own feathers and snorted. Yeah, that wasn't happening. But...oh, fuck. She felt the strange sense that she ought to be assisting Poe.

All right, damn it. She'd go down to McDuck Manor and see how pissed Scrooge was at her. He wouldn't be happy to hear she'd escaped police custody, either, but that was how it went down. And it wasn't like she'd actually done anything to the triplets or Webby. Child endangerment. What was that? Some trumped up charge, that was what.

Poe was lucky he was her brother. She wouldn't do this for just anyone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magica tries to figure out a way to help Poe, who decides to help himself. Webby has another flashback.

****As it happened, Magica couldn’t get near McDuck Manor’s driveway, much less the house. As she stepped up to the gates, a shrill noise echoed in her head and drove her to her knees. It felt like someone was trying to squeeze her brain out through her ears and she whimpered in pain. Gladstone had intended to speak with Scrooge, hadn’t he? Had he not put in a good word for her? Or was this Scrooge’s response? Her beak curled in disdain. Leave it to Scroogie to put his “best foot forward”. Hatred for him lashed within her and, blinking tears away, she attempted to stand. She grabbed onto the gates to steady herself.

  


She could hear Scrooge sneering at her but wasn’t sure whether it was in her head or actually happening. Drawing a deep breath, she tugged on the gates in the off chance he might have left them unlocked. They electrocuted her. She yelped, jumping back. Between the shrieking in her head and the electrocution, she could barely think. She breathed raggedly.

  


Clearly, Scrooge had taken her intrusion seriously. She looked at the intercom and then a little camera near the intercom button. Scrooge was within there, holed up in his fortress. She had no right to be there, they both knew that, but hiding behind locks, electrocution, and whatever this klaxon sound was didn’t constitute playing fair. He was supposed to be the “good guy”.

  


Grinding her teeth, she assessed the situation. Unlike before, she couldn’t waltz in. She couldn’t shapeshift, either, because she could feel magic repelling technology at work. Poe squawked nearby; was this targeted only at her or was he suffering too? Magica sneered. He deserved it for having such a weak daughter.

  


Lena. Magica snarled, using her staff to generate a casting circle to dispel the house’s protections. While she was doing that, Poe flew over the gates. Magica cried in outrage. It looked like the house’s protections didn’t extend to him. She was the target. Oh, Scrooge was playing with fire now.

  


Turning her staff into a broom, she hopped atop it and hovered up at the top of the gates. The sound increased in volume until she couldn’t see or hear anything, only the noise existed. She plummeted to the ground and curled into a ball. She coughed up blood. All right, fine, he wasn’t fucking around anymore. Neither was she.

  


He’d taken it so personally that she’d sicced the Bloodhound Gang on Webby and Lena. Lena was hers to torment as she saw fit since she was her niece and her former pawn. As for Webby, if the girl had kept her beak out of Magica’s affairs and let her kill her grandmother and steal the dime in peace, then she wouldn’t be in Magica’s crosshairs. Magica smirked. It’d been good to kill her grandmother. Casual carnage. Oh, and how heartbroken Webby had been...it was delicious to hear.

  


She’d come here for Poe, alas. Since Poe hadn’t seen fit to figure out how to admit her and she was in excruciating pain from the electrocution and that continuing whine in her head, she retreated. While she dearly wanted Scrooge’s number one dime and to humiliate him, now was not the time. Besides, she was getting tired of his brats interfering. When she went after him next, she’d ensure his family wanted nothing to do with him.

  


She’d have to lure him out, alone. She was on the fence about whether she wanted him dead. It seemed like a waste, but if he died, perhaps she could steal his money before the will was read. She prepared herself to launch off and the noise abated, so suddenly that it felt like Magica’s ears were bleeding. Hissing, she whirled around and wiped the blood off her cheeks. Yeah, she was bleeding.

  


Someone was watching her from the other side of the gate. Someone she hadn’t seen in over a decade, whom she had assumed was dead. Della Duck was watching her with an inscrutable expression on her face. Magica’s heart quickened and she burned with embarrassment. This was not how she’d wanted Della to find her.

  


Not that she cared about her. She’d had a brief fling with her, mostly to piss Scrooge off, but Magica’s heart, such as it was, belonged to Gladstone. That didn’t mean that seeing Della wasn’t awkward as hell, especially in this condition.

  


Della folded her arms across her chest as if expecting more of Magica. No doubt by now she’d heard of her exploits. Wherever had she been for ten years? She looked remarkably the same; it was as if no time had passed. Magica was older than her by a few years, not enough to be substantial as adults, though age differences as children had mattered so much more.

  


Magica was growing uncomfortable with the younger duck’s scrutiny. Had she come out here to leer at him? She could have watched the security cameras and glowered at her from the manor’s safety. She must have had a purpose. Magica’s head still rang from the previous clamor and she swiped at her watering eyes.

  


Then it occurred to her that Della was speaking, but she couldn’t hear her. Irritated, Magica waved her staff to dispel whatever rogue spell was causing this. As she did so, Della opened the gates a fraction and sound returned. Magica’s chest was tight and she glared at Della, though she knew this wasn’t her fault. It was the damnable Scrooge McDuck.

  


“As I was saying,” Della said, regarding her coolly, “Uncle Scrooge wants to call the cops on you. And Gizmoduck. You’re not wanted here. You put my boys in danger, in addition to their friends.”

  


Her boys? Oh. She must’ve meant the triplets. That was right--they were Della’s get. She didn’t know how she’d forgotten that.

  


“So, why are you here?” she demanded. “Say something.”

  


“Poe,” Magica managed. She was shaking, feeling the aftereffects of the electrocution. She glowered at Della for being able to touch the gates without being shocked. Well, she wouldn’t be. Scrooge wouldn’t attack his family. His precious, precious family. Hatred roiled within her, thick enough to tighten her throat and raise her temperature.

  


“Poe? Your brother?”

  


Magica nodded.

  


“That raven?”

  


Again, she nodded. This conversation was tiring her. Could Della get to the point already?

  


“I see.”

  


She doubted she did. She was just making conversation at the expense of Magica’s sanity. What remained of it, at any rate. She didn’t think she had any to spare.

  


“Let me guess--he’s after my uncle’s number one dime.”

  


Della sighed when Magica didn’t respond. Without another word, she shut the gate and walked away. Magica fumed.

  


“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded. No matter how desperate she’d been for the conversation to end, Della walking away struck her as rude.

  


“To stop him, obviously,” she said and shook her head at her. “I thought you were smarter than this.”

  


Magica snarled, reaching for her staff to blast Della for her insubordination. Sleeping together a few times did not give her the right to be so damn cheeky. And that had been over a decade ago. Clearly, it didn’t matter anymore and Magica had no right to be upset with her. Why was everyone in Scrooge’s family, except Gladstone, infuriating?

  


“He needs that dime to turn back into his true self!” Magica snapped. “Wouldn’t your precious Lena be interested in that?”

  


Della hesitated, stopping.

  


“Yes, I know Lena’s staying there,” Magica said. Saying her name was like pulling nails out and Magica shuddered, loathing for her competing with her hatred for Scrooge for prominence. Perhaps she could hate them both equally and deeply. One was a blood traitor and the other was an asshole.

  


“Only I can help him,” she said. “Or doesn’t Lena want to know her father?”

  


Della turned around and the coldness in her gaze sent shivers through Magica. Yes, she’d been fully briefed on Magica’s activities while she’d been gone. She would get no sympathy from that quarter.

  


“After what you let happen and what you did, I don’t think she wants anything more to do with you, regardless,” Della snapped.

  


“Why do you care what she wants?” Magica sneered. “She’s not your relative.”

  


Della sighed, aggravated. “She hurt someone my boys care about very much. For Webby’s sake, if not for Lena’s, I’m keeping an eye out.”

  


“Making up for lost time?” Magica sneered. “You weren’t so eager to settle down when you laid those eggs. Or why else would you have abandoned them?”

  


Della froze and Magica could see the taunt had struck home. The knowledge of what she’d done to her children was writ large upon her face.

  


“I didn’t abandon them,” Della growled.

  


“That’s not how they think,” Magica crooned. “I saw their deepest fears. They’re afraid that they’re a burden and that Scroogie and Donald will abandon them.”

  


Della looked like someone had slapped her in the face. It had to be unsettling to know that a family enemy knew her children better than she did and such intimate knowledge. Oh, it had to be eating her alive. Magica sneered.

  


“I know their fears,” she whispered. “The things they’ll never tell you. And doesn’t that sting, just a little?”

  


Della watched her for a minute longer. “I have years to get to know them. Whatever you gleaned from them through a spell isn’t as deep a connection as I’ll have with them.”

  


“But you don’t have it now, do you?” she taunted.

  


A cruel smile flitted across Della’s beak and she gestured for Magica to approach the gate. Hesitant, wary of a trick, she stepped closer, close enough to touch the younger duck. Della beckoned her nearer still and yanked her against the bars with her right arm. She brushed her beak against Magica’s and, at the same time, stepped back just as the electricity and the high-pitched whine resumed. Reeling from all three, Magica stumbled backward and landed on her rear. By the time she regained her senses, Della was long gone.

  


Irritated, knowing she only had herself to blame for falling for her prank, Magica cast one last glance up at McDuck Manor and snorted. She wished Poe luck. He was going to need it.

  


* * *

 

Poe encircled the manor before locating an open window on the second floor. He swooped inside and discovered two young girls sitting together. They were poring over a book that, in Poe’s current form, he couldn’t read. They looked up at his entrance; judging from Magica’s descriptions, the older girl was his daughter and the younger Webbigail. He wished he could speak with them, but his current form prohibited speech.

  


“What’s a raven doing in my room?” Webby mused, staring at him. “Hi, random bird! What brings you here?”

  


Knowing that he couldn’t spell it out, he tugged at Lena’s pink stripe and Lena yelped, swatting him away. If he could have smiled, he would have. He barely remembered his daughter, but he did remember that she liked her personal space.

  


“You’re here for Lena?” Webby asked and Poe nodded.

  


“How do you get that out of this?” Lena said, shaking her head. “He could be a random bird.”

  


“Or he could be your long-lost father come to talk to you!” Webby exclaimed.

  


“Webs, what do you think the odds of that are?”

  


Webby wilted. “Well, it did poke at your hair when I asked what brought it here.”

  


“That doesn’t mean anything,” Lena said dismissively.

  


“But it could,” Webby protested.

  


On a random glance, looking down at the book that the girls had been reading, he saw a magical stone. The book itself shone with magic; he wasn’t as adept as his sister, but he knew artifacts when he saw them. Where had they gotten this book? What was the significance of the stone? Maybe...maybe he could help. If they could turn him back into his normal form, he might be able to make use of the stone for them and help them out.

  


Of course, that assumed he could get his normal form back, which was by no means certain.

  


Poe wished he could read the book and pick out the words to communicate with them. His eyes wouldn’t focus on the book, regardless, and he had grown accustomed to the form’s limitations. He missed his true form, although it was starting to feel like a distant memory. It’d been years since he’d been a duck and Lena’s proper father.

  


“Then why is it lingering?” Webby asked. Her triumphant note had disappeared and she sounded uncertain.

  


“Because it’s a stupid bird?” Lena suggested. “Shoo! Stupid bird.”

  


Poe remained, ignoring his daughter treating him like a mindless animal. He pecked at her hair again and she whacked him.

  


“It really seems interested in you,” Webby mused.

  


“Yeah, and I don’t know why,” Lena huffed. “Get out of here, you damn bird.”

  


She cast her gaze about for something to throw at him and he took flight before she had a chance to connect. He hadn’t expected her to recognize her; he hadn’t had particularly high hopes of anything, to be honest. In his best dreams, Lena recognized him and immediately assisted him. That was a pipe dream.

  


He clearly needed a different approach if he was going to gain Lena’s trust. Or attention beyond shooing him away, at any rate. For that, he’d need to think about this carefully. On the plus side, unlike Magica, he had access to the grounds. He didn’t have to leave; he could stay here and think while keeping a surreptitious eye on Lena.

  


Or maybe Webby would be the key to unlocking Lena. Webby had seemed more curious and open to the idea that he could be someone special. Perhaps he could exploit that. Not in the way that Magica would, but using his powers for good or some such nonsense.

  


He flew away for now and onto a nearby tree. He could still hear the girls talking; he had excellent hearing in this form. It was one of the few advantages.

  


So, he sat and he listened and he plotted. He wasn’t too unlike his sister after all, was he?

  


* * *

 

  


What had happened to her struck at odd moments. She was sitting, reading, right up against Lena and cuddling with her girlfriend (girlfriend---it still hadn’t lost its appeal), and she was thrust back into her last encounter with the Bloodhound Gang. She could feel blood slicking her feathers and the punch of her knife through his sternum. The blood had sprayed into her face and coated her hair. She could feel it again, like no time had passed, like she was trapped in that horrible scenario and there was no escape.

  


She could taste the blood on her tongue and its hot, sticky warmth coated her. Shaking horribly, not seeing the room around her but the abandoned theatre, she retreated, backing into something. She drew big bracing breaths to keep herself steady, but it was no use. She could still see Magica grinning at her as Webby’s attacker fell to the floor. She could hear him falling, feel the thud, see the others scampering away.

  


Distantly, she could hear Scrooge and the others approaching. Bile burned her throat and she wanted to vomit. She didn’t, choking it back with an effort.

  


“Webby!” Lena cried. Webby turned without seeing her. She’d been there that night too. And it was happening all over again. Magica was taunting her, grabbing her and holding her up, almost as a prize, to Scrooge. She was a pawn, a pathetic figure whose only use was as a plaything.

  


“Webby!” Lena cried. Webby pushed away from her; she felt trapped.

  


“You’re not there, you’re here,” Lena whispered. “You’re here. You’re in your room. That thing you bumped into was your bed. Breathe, Webby. Breathe. You’re safe.”

  


Another figure knelt in front of her and she was confused. Her mother hadn’t been there. Her mother reached out to hug her and Lena shook her head.

  


“Don’t force her,” Lena said. Their voices sounded like they were coming from underwater. Webby couldn’t feel her body; she wasn’t in the present. She was trapped in a memory that felt more real than reality.

  


“Take deep breaths,” Lena said. “Do you want me to get Donald?”

  


Webby shook her head and felt her breathing speed up. She’d been hyperventilating that night too and she shook uncontrollably.

  


“Focus on five things around you,” Wren said. “Tell me what you see around you.”

  


“The theatre…” Webby said faintly.

  


“No, you’re not there,” Lena said. “You’re in your room. We’re here.”

  


“I see...my bookcase…” Webby said faintly. “I see...the window...my old infrared goggles...something from Funso’s...something…”

  


Her next breath was a sob and Lena brushed her hand against Webby’s. Webby still felt disconnected from her body but something in her ached at the anguish on her girlfriend’s face. With an effort, she continued listing things that she saw. As she did so, she could feel herself relaxing minutely, enough so that her mother and girlfriend grabbed her hands and brought her closer to them.

  


“It’s okay, Webby,” Wren said softly. “Breathe.”

  


It was ridiculous advice. She was already breathing. How did her mother know how to combat PTSD, anyway? Was it from working with SHUSH?

  


Gradually, she became aware of her surroundings and the flashback faded. The two other females were watching her closely and Webby’s eyes welled with tears, which she wiped away.

  


“Sorry,” Webby said weakly. “I didn’t mean to scare you guys.”

  


“I know what you’re going through,” Lena said and Webby glanced at her. “I get nightmares about Magica coming back and being my shadow again. Or permanently linking me to her so that no matter what I do, I can’t escape her.”

  


“Everyone has a hidden trauma,” Wren said and Lena gave her a strange look. “Okay, maybe not everyone. But it’s okay. No one here is judging you.”

  


“Where were you just now?” Lena whispered.

  


“Back in the theatre, right after I’d killed their leader…” Webby whispered back, shivering.

  


“First kills are always the hardest,” Wren said and the two girls gave her a weird look. “They are. Trust me.”

  


Lena smoothed Webby’s hair back. “You’re okay. Sssh.”

  


Webby wished she could tell herself that and believe it. Swallowing past a lump in her throat, she just shook her head.

  


“We’ll stay until you are,” Wren promised.

  


Webby smiled weakly. They might be waiting for a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby investigates a way to communicate with her grandmother from beyond the grave, Poe attempts to make further contact with Lena, and the adults discuss whether locating the Stone of Remembrance is even possible.

Webby was up late researching the Stone of Remembrance. Even when her eyelids grew heavy and she knew she should sleep, she quested after the information. She needed to hear her grandmother’s voice again and tell her what had happened. More than that, she needed her grandmother to tell her it hadn’t been her fault. Magica’s nightmares still lingered and Webby was obsessed with finding absolution.

  
Lena had fallen asleep before her in her room; Webby knew she was having nightmares too. They didn’t need Magica’s assistance for that. She closed the laptop reluctantly and put it on a bedside table. Stifling a yawn, she curled up under the covers. She wasn’t expecting pleasant dreams. Tomorrow she was supposed to see the therapist and, like the night awaiting her, she wasn’t anticipating anything good to come out of it.  
  
Shuddering, she closed her eyes. When the door opened, she was too tired to see who it was or even to turn her head toward the sound.  
  
“Webby?” Wren ventured and Webby’s beak pulled into a small smile. Her mother sat on her bed beside her and stroked her hair. For someone who claimed she didn’t think she had what it took to be a mother, she was doing an all right job so far.  
  
“I saw the light from your computer. You’re up late.”  
  
So was Wren. But Webby was too tired to talk to her. She curled into a small ball. Even though the PTSD flashback had ended hours ago, she could feel it lurking, waiting to strike. She remembered sitting in the shower with the water pouring over her as she stared in a state of shock.  
  
“I know you’re a little old for bedtime stories,” she continued and sighed. “I shouldn’t have left. I know I shouldn’t have. But I bet Mother was a better guardian to you than I would’ve been as a mother…  
  
“Try to get some sleep, okay? I’ll be right down the hall if you have any nightmares.”  
  
She’d have nothing but nightmares, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless. Her mother moved away after kissing her on the forehead and Webby was left alone with her thoughts.  
  
The knife punching through the leader’s sternum. The blood everywhere, slickening the floorboards. The feel of the leader thrusting into her and his disgusting groans when he finished inside of her. Webby shuddered uncontrollably, still feeling that sticky wetness between her legs. She didn’t want to sleep or be alone with her thoughts. But she was too tired to seek someone out. That would require getting up and moving, which she didn’t want to do.  
  
But she did want someone to stay with her. Shaking her head, she pushed herself reluctantly off the bed and padded down the hall toward the boys. Their door was open, though they were all fast asleep. Webby didn’t want to climb the ladder in the dark and wound up in Louie’s bunk. He awakened as soon as she huddled up against him and wrapped his arms around her.  
  
“Can’t sleep?” he whispered.  
  
“Don’t want to,” she said. She didn’t want to get into it, either. Louie nodded, pulling her back against his chest.  
  
“You can stay here,” Louie said and then yawned. “Just try not to hit me in my sleep, okay?”  
  
“I promise,” she murmured.  
  
“Why didn’t you go bug Lena?” he murmured. He wasn’t chastising her; he sounded curious although he also sounded exhausted. She must have woken him up out of a sound sleep.  
  
“I don’t know,” she said and then shuddered, remembering the sticky wetness again. “I guess I just wanted to come here.”  
  
“Are you okay, Webs?” he whispered. “You’re still having nightmares, aren’t you?”  
  
“Maybe,” she hedged and he grimaced, pulling her tighter to him. He was comforting and warm. Yes, he was a boy, but he wasn’t threatening. She knew him; she knew his smell, his feel, and the warmth of his body against hers. He was Louie Duck and he was safe. She was safe.  
  
But she couldn’t get that damned feeling out of her mind. She kept hearing the leader groan when he finished inside of her and she shivered uncontrollably. Louie said nothing; he rested his chin on her shoulder. Maybe she shouldn’t have come to bother him since she might be giving him the wrong idea. But she needed the boys to surround her right now.  
  
“You’re an awful liar, you know that?” he said lightly.  
  
“I don’t have a lot of practice in it,” she replied.  
  
“Ah, Webs, it’s all in the delivery,” he sighed. “I’ll show you sometime when it’s daylight and after we’ve gotten some sleep. G’night, Webby.”  
  
“Good night, Louie,” she whispered back.  
  
He stroked her hair and she smiled weakly. In Louie’s arms, like in Lena’s arms, she felt secure enough to fall asleep quickly. However, if she thought her sleep was going to be restful, she had another thing coming.  
  


* * *

  
  
Webby found herself in the theatre again and this time, she was glued to the floor. The Bloodhound Gang advanced, their leader leering at her. She was spread-eagled, her skirt lifted up to her chest. Her heart hammered and she tried to speak, but her beak was melded shut. She couldn’t move, no matter what she tried, and, out of the corner of her eye, she spied her grandmother standing there, saying nothing, just watching.  
  
She screamed her name in her head to no avail. The leader stopped, lowered himself to Webby, and then pushed himself inside of her. Holding himself up by his hands, he thrust into her. Unlike in real life, this thrusting seemed to take forever and every time he pulled out to push back in, her tail scraped against the splintery wooden floorboards. Her feathers were getting stuck in between the boards and his movement was yanking some of them out.  
  
Her grandmother spoke, cold and austere. “You’ve forgotten your training, Webbigail.”  
  
Webby’s mouth was dry. She couldn’t speak, try as she might. Instead, her gaze sought out her grandmother’s and she saw disapproval and disappointment. She tried to hold her gaze rather than look up at the leader, who slapped Webby upside the head to force her to look back at him.  
  
At last, he groaned, spilling inside of her, and collapsed on top of her. She wanted to crawl away or at least hit him, but she still couldn’t move. Her tail was stuck fast now, trapped against a nail. The leader pulled out of her with another happy groan and the disgusting slurping noise that accompanied it made her sick to her stomach.  
  
“Who’s next?” the leader asked with a nasty grin.  
  
“Webby!” Louie called and Webby turned her head. She could move that now, at least. She saw the boys approaching through a fog and she wanted to cover herself and then beat her assailants into submission. She didn’t want the boys to see her vulnerable. The last thing she wanted was for them to know she had weaknesses and that she was afraid all the time now.  
  
“Webby, you’re having a nightmare,” Huey said, kneeling at her side. “You need to wake up.”  
  
“C’mon, Webs,” Dewey whispered.  
  
Her grandmother advanced too and she sneered, which Webby knew she’d never do at her granddaughter’s distress. She’d have beaten the living shit out of her rapist and possibly killed him herself. No, not possibly. Definitely would have killed him herself before it even got this far. She would have ripped his disgusting thing off before it’d gotten anywhere near Webby.  
  
Maybe it was a dream, but the knowledge made it no less real. The boys were watching now too as the second Bloodhound Gang member took his turn inside of her. Webby screamed in her head and Mrs. Beakley shook her own at her.  
  
“Webby! For the love of money, wake up!” Louie implored.  
  
“Really? You’re going with that?” Huey said.  
  
The two proceeded to argue and Webby tuned them out as the second leader began thrusting, irritating already raw passages within her. It felt like every time he moved, he ripped open something else. This hadn’t happened in real life. In real life, she’d managed to spin away and fight back, knocking the guns out of her assailants’ hands and fending them off until they fled. But she couldn’t move now, only watch numbly.  
  
“Webby!” This time, it was all three of them and it was accompanied by a hard slap across the face. Gasping, Webby bolted upright and gawked at the three boys arrayed in their pajamas before her. Tears coated her cheeks and she scrubbed at her face.  
  
“Holy shit, I thought you were never going to wake up,” Louie said. “You scared the shit out of us, Webby.”  
  
“Louie! Language!” Huey hissed.  
  
“Hey, there are no adults here. I can curse if I want,” Louie said with a shrug.  
  
“That doesn’t mean you should,” Huey argued.  
  
“Do you want to talk about it?” Dewey asked and joined her on the bed. He wrapped an arm around her and she glanced down, half expecting to see her nightgown covered in disgusting bodily fluids. It was clean and dry, however, and she shuddered again.  
  
“I thought I’d sleep better if I came here…” she whispered, crestfallen.  
  
“Don’t blame yourself,” Huey said. “You have PTSD. So does Uncle Donald.”  
  
Webby shook her head. She wasn’t disputing that Donald had PTSD, but she didn’t want to think about the implications of her having it too. She wondered whether she would’ve been better off sleeping by herself. At least then she wouldn’t have woken anyone up.  
  
“Do you think you can go back to sleep?” Dewey asked.  
  
“I’m not sure I can,” Louie said and earned himself dirty looks. “What? You heard her screaming and crying. She sounded like she was being tortured.”  
  
“I was,” Webby whispered.  
  
“You should talk about it,” Dewey pressed. “You’ll feel better.”  
  
“I can’t,” she said and shook her head. She couldn’t tell them in excruciating detail what it felt like. She didn’t want them to know; it was too intimate and besides, she didn’t want to disturb them. She couldn’t tell anyone about this, really. And her grandmother, standing there and watching in the dream…  
  
“We’re here for you,” Huey said, placing a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“I’ll try to go back to sleep,” she said in a small voice, feeling cowed.  
  
“Don’t scream like a banshee again, okay?” Louie said and she nodded, but it was a promise she didn’t think she could keep. She swallowed back the terror and anguish the nightmare had prompted and curled up against Louie again as the boys returned to their respective bunks. She was still crying, albeit softly.  
  
“Webs?” Louie murmured.  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“What was your dream about?”  
  
“It’s not important. I’m sorry I woke you guys up,” she whispered back.  
  
“Aaah, Webbigail, Webbigail, Webbigail,” he said, shaking his head. “You really are a terrible liar.”  
  
He tugged on her hair and then kissed her on the cheek. It looked like he hadn’t given up on his pursuit of her, despite her choosing Lena. Perhaps he thought since she hadn’t gone to Lena’s side, that he still had a chance. Or perhaps he just wanted to comfort her.  
  
She didn’t know why she hadn’t gone to Lena. It just hadn’t felt right, for some reason. It was odd to seek the help of the opposite sex when a guy had violated her, but that was different. He was a dog, an adult, and an asshole besides. They were ducklings and they cared about her.  
  
Whatever the case, she relaxed and, thankfully for everyone, fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

  
  
Lena discovered a raven sitting on her desk when she dressed that morning. It was watching her intently and although Lena couldn’t be certain, she could swear it was the same damn raven that had appeared to her and Webby yesterday too. What the fuck? Was it stalking her?  
  
“What is your issue, bird?” she asked it. She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not going to feed you handouts and I’m not going to keep you as a pet.”  
  
She blinked, realizing that the book she’d borrowed from the library was in tatters. The pieces had been lined up to spell a message. Lena stared, read it once, and then reread it in disbelief. It didn’t make sense.  
  
“I am Poe,” the message read.  
  
But Poe was her father’s name. Could this raven be her father trapped in bird form? No, that was impossible. Or was it? Lena had seen too many things, even in the last few weeks, to discount the possibility. And Webby had said that it could be someone of importance to her. Not that Webby knew how magic worked, mind you, but sometimes she had keen intuition, even if she didn’t always have the best judge of character.  
  
Lena leaned against the desk with her back to the message. The desk was up against the wall with the window, which explained how he’d gotten in. Security could keep out most intruders, but not small birds that happened to fly in. Poe fluttered onto her bedpost and stared intently at her. No, not Poe. Why was she accepting this? Just because he’d torn her book to shreds to spell out a pithy message didn’t mean it was him.  
  
The raven flew to the wall and scraped at the wood paneling. She didn’t tell him to stop. For one, this wasn’t her house. For another, she’d never really cared about casual destruction. She had the feeling Mrs. Beakley might’ve, but Webby’s grandmother was gone. Guilt gnawed at her for that, but she refused to think about it.  
  
“Lena, I swear I’m your father,” she read. It had taken him a painstakingly long time to scratch out that message and she was impressed he’d managed it. Still, he could be one of Magica’s tricks. She folded her arms across her chest.  
  
“How do I know you’re not Aunt Magica in disguise?” she said; her beak curled in disgust. “Trying to find a new way into the manor to steal Scrooge’s number one dime?”  
  
The raven shook his head. He couldn’t prove he wasn’t Magica, which meant this wasn’t conclusive enough for her. Magica’s plans were nothing if not elaborate. She wanted to believe that her father had come back for her. She wanted to believe that someone in her family cared about her; she knew was deluding herself. Instead, deliberately, she turned her back on the raven.  
  
The raven squawked in indignation and flew in front of her. It sounded like it was trying to squawk out her name. She pushed it aside and it flew onto her shoulder. What the hell.  
  
“What is your deal?” she snapped. “I thought you were done with me, Aunt Magica.”  
  
The raven shook its head. It shuddered and, with an effort, said, “Not! Magica!”  
  
So it could talk. That was interesting. The voice didn’t sound like Magica’s, either, and Magica wouldn’t have gone through the pretense of tricking Lena for so long, would she? Or was that Lena’s hope speaking instead of common sense?  
  
“And you expect me to buy that,” Lena said flatly.  
  
“Not! Magica!” the raven insisted. “Poe.”  
  
Lena scoffed, yanking open her door. The raven dug its talons into her shoulder, which hurt.  
  
“Not! Magica! Lena!”  
  
“Would you get off of me?” she huffed. Blood trickled from a wound he’d inflicted and soaked her shirt. The bird shifted slightly, so that he wasn’t on her injury, but otherwise refused to budge.  
  
“Lena!” the bird repeated. “Lena!”  
  
Lena shuddered, disturbed. The triplets were leaving their bedroom and Webby was with them; though the boys looked a little tired, Webby looked exhausted. She must have had nightmares all night. Lena’s heart went out to her. She didn’t even look up at Lena as she approached.  
  
“What’s with the raven?” Louie asked.  
  
“I don’t know,” Lena said, frustrated. “It won’t leave me alone. It carved up my wall saying it was my father and destroyed a book and now it keeps saying ‘Not Magica!’ at me and my name.”  
  
“She could’ve trained it to steal Uncle Scrooge’s dime,” Huey mused and the raven snapped its beak at him. His gaze flicked to her shoulder. “Do you want me to take care of that for you?”  
  
“If you want,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Do you know any repellents that work on ravens?”  
  
“I’d have to check,” he said and pulled the JWG out from under his cap.  
  
“Not Magica,” the bird growled. “Lena. Listen.”  
  
“She could’ve trained it to talk, but not to lie,” Louie said. “You can’t teach a bird like that to lie.”  
  
He said this as though he had experience in the matter. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he did.  
  
“I don’t think that bird is Magica,” Webby said, covering her beak as she yawned. She hadn’t changed out of her pajamas. “For one thing, if it were, it wouldn’t have bothered with talking to you. It would have gone straight for Uncle Scrooge’s number one dime.”  
  
“No offense, but I doubt Magica wants anything to do with you right now,” Huey pointed out.  
  
Lena frowned in consternation and glanced at the bird on her shoulder. They had a point. Magica wouldn’t have gone to such lengths to convince her; she would have swooped in, stolen the necklace with the dime on it, and swooped back out. Lena turned her gaze cautiously onto the bird.  
  
“Dad?” she said. The word felt strange on her tongue. The bird nodded emphatically.  
  
“Lena,” the raven said and if it could have smiled, it would have.  
  
They proceeded down the hall, where they collected Wren and Della. Lena ignored their conversations; she noticed that Webby couldn’t be drawn into one with Wren, no matter what the woman tried. Instead, she seemed downcast, despondent. Her gaze was hooked onto the floor.  
  
“Nightmares?” Wren asked.  
  
Webby shrugged, seeming to shrink into her shell again.  
  
“You can talk to me, you know,” Wren said and, again, Webby shrugged. Lena’s heart clenched and she matched Webby’s pace.  
  
“Or me, if you’d rather,” Lena said in an undertone. Webby glanced up at her and her beak quivered. This time, she shook her head.  
  
It was a subdued group that walked down to breakfast. With Mrs. Beakley gone, they had to fix their own breakfast or have Donald help out. Donald’s cooking was sub par compared to Mrs. Beakley, but no one had the heart to complain. Webby probably could have cooked, if she’d wanted to, but all the other girl seemed to want to do was hide away. It scared Lena.  
  
“Good morning,” Scrooge said, folding the paper to regard them. “Webbigail? Lena, what’s with the raven?”  
  
“Long story,” Lena said, shaking her head. “Don’t ask.”  
  
“It almost looks like Magica de Spell’s brother, Poe…” Scrooge mused.  
  
“Poe!” the raven agreed. He bobbed his head at Scrooge.  
  
“If you’re Magica’s brother, that would make you…” Scrooge frowned. “Lena’s father.”  
  
“Lena!” Poe agreed again and Lena groaned.  
  
“I don’t know why he’s a raven and I don’t wanna know,” Lena said. “I just want to eat breakfast in peace.”  
  
With a bleeding shoulder. But she could ignore that for the time being. She thought it’d stopped bleeding for now.  
  
“Webbigail, are you all right?” Scrooge queried.  
  
Webby shook her head at Scrooge’s inquiry and chose a seat furthest away from everyone. Lena and Louie stubbornly chose seats on either side of her while Donald doled out breakfast. It didn’t look like Webby was nodding off so much as she was mired in her own world.  
  
“She’s been like this since we woke up,” Huey explained. “She’s barely said anything.”  
  
“Nightmares?” he inquired. Webby said nothing, just poked at her eggs.  
  
“Your therapist appointment is today,” he reminded her.  
  
“I’m fine,” Webby said in a flat tone. “I don’t need a therapist.”  
  
The boys exchanged glances and while Lena disagreed with the idea of therapy in general, she thought maybe Webby could’ve benefited from talking to someone about this. And it must’ve been some therapist to get through Scrooge’s screening, because it’d have to be someone discreet and also compassionate, possibly specializing in kids with trauma. Webby had to know she had PTSD...but she wasn’t reacting.  
  
“I saw a therapist,” Wren offered and Webby glanced up from her eggs briefly. “After my first major mission with SHUSH.”  
  
Her gaze dropped too. “After Steelbeak.”  
  
“Steelbeak?” Webby repeated and Lena could see her mother had piqued her interest. “You went up against Steelbeak?”  
  
“Yes,” Wren said and her face pinched. “You’re the result of that.”  
  
There was a stunned silence around the breakfast table. The boys didn’t know who Steelbeak was; to be fair, Lena had no idea what they were talking about either. However, judging by Della choking on her coffee, Scrooge dropping the newspaper in shock, and Donald’s gaze darting between his uncle and Wren, this hadn’t been common knowledge. Whoever Steelbeak was, he had to be part of FOWL.  
  
“It’s why your grandmother was so overprotective. She thought Steelbeak might find out about you,” Wren said softly. “I had to see a therapist after the first mission because SHUSH thought Steelbeak might have exerted undue influence on me. He did, but I didn’t tell them the extent. And then...there you were. A new egg.”  
  
She pushed away from the table. “I’m suddenly feeling a little nauseous. I’ll be back.”  
  
Then she darted out of the room and left another awkward silence in her wake.  
  
“What just happened?” Dewey asked.  
  
“Steelbeak was or perhaps still is the head of FOWL,” Scrooge said.  
  
“Then what does he have to do with Webby?” Louie demanded.  
  
“I don’t know…” Scrooge said, but Lena could tell he was lying. The others remained unconvinced too.  
  
“I’m going to go ask,” Webby said in that same toneless voice that sent chills down Lena’s spine. She didn’t sound curious, just detached. She jumped to her feet.  
  
“I didn’t excuse you from the table, Webbigail,” Scrooge scolded. “You need to eat something. You’ve been picking at your food like a tiny bird.”  
  
Reluctantly, Webby sat back down and returned to eating. She didn’t look happy about it and Lena cast her gaze around to see if she could determine where Wren had gone.  
  
“Uncle Scrooge, it sounds like…” Della trailed off, glancing at the children.  
  
“Aye, I know what it sounds like,” he said quietly. “We’ll discuss it later.”  
  
Lena drank and ate but barely tasted anything. Webby was fidgeting beside her. If what Lena was thinking was true, then she and her mother had something in common that neither of them wanted. It might help, if either of them could bring themselves to discuss it.  
  
Breakfast seemed to take forever before they could be excused and once they had been, Webby darted off in search of her mother. Lena followed, unwilling to leave Webby alone. This new, recalcitrant Webby was unnerving. She wasn’t the girl Lena had fallen in love with and Lena fretted that maybe this was the way Webby might be from now on.  
  
“Mom?” Webby said, discovering her mother in the study. Lena hesitated outside the door. Sometimes, Lena could be as stealthy as a shadow. Webby hadn’t noticed her stalking her, but she might have also been lost in her thoughts.  
  
“Webbigail…” Wren sighed. “Come in. You might as well bring your friend Lena in too.”  
  
“Lena?” Webby said, baffled, and turned her head. Lena smiled tightly, refusing to feel guilty for following her. She held out her hand to Webby and Webby took it, which was reassuring. She pressed her thumb against Webby’s wrist and pulse point. She had a sudden urge to kiss her, hold her, and tell her that she’d kill anyone who hurt her again.  
  
“She’s more than your friend, isn’t she?” Wren said softly and Webby glanced away from Lena to look at her mother.  
  
“She’s my girlfriend,” Webby said softly.  
  
“I thought so,” Wren said. “Come in, both of you. It seems we have a lot to discuss. Like Steelbeak.”  
  
When Wren said his name, her face tightened again and there was pain in her eyes. Lena, who had been slow putting two and two together because of her own sleepless night, wondered why Wren was telling her this now. What purpose did it serve for Webby to learn she was the product of rape?  
  
“You mean my father,” Webby said softly and Wren jerked her head in a defiant “no”.  
  
“He’s not your father,” Wren said, scowling. “He’s just half of your DNA. He doesn’t deserve that title. Let’s talk. Lena, could you close the door?”  
  
Lena did and Wren settled into a chair. Webby and Lena took the couch opposite her and Webby curled up against Lena. Lena wrapped her arm about her waist and Webby shifted, putting her head in her lap. Lena smiled.  
  
“It was about thirteen years ago, but I guess you knew that already…” Wren began.  
  


* * *

  
  
The adults, excluding Wren, had sequestered themselves in Scrooge’s office. The final arrangements had to be made for Mrs. Beakley’s funeral, but there were more pressing matters on Scrooge’s mind. Della wasn’t doing well around groups, though she’d been pretending to be fine. After so long in isolation, being surrounded by people had to be a rude shock. He also wasn’t sure what kind of mental state she was in, but he doubted it was entirely healthy.  
  
He frowned, studying his bookcase. One of his books was missing. Webbigail. It had to be. It was the book detailing the Stone of Remembrance and he shook his head. They would have to chase after the stone, regardless of its near mythical qualities. Webby was obsessed and since this was one of the few things to interest her after the ordeal, he felt he had to indulge her.  
  
“Uncle Donald?” Della said quietly. He turned and found her gripping her chair tightly, like it might drift off into space. He didn’t know how tenuous the gravity had been on her base, nor did he know why Glomgold had told him she was there. He had a feeling Glomgold would want payback sooner or later. He’d never been one to be sentimental about relatives before. Scrooge wasn’t even sure Glomgold had any relatives.  
  
“Sorry,” he said. “I was thinking about our next adventure.”  
  
“I’m not really up for adventuring…” Della said and Donald shot her an alarmed look.  
  
“I mean, after what happened last time,” she continued.  
  
“I won’t let anything happen to you ever again,” Scrooge said fiercely. “You shouldn’t have taken the Spear of Selene, but that was out of my control. This isn’t. I won’t let anyone get hurt. I promise.”  
  
“Adventuring is always dangerous, though,” Della said.  
  
“But you love it,” Donald said softly, trying and failing to hold his twin’s gaze. “Don’t tell me you’re giving it up.”  
  
“We won’t lose you again,” Scrooge swore softly. “We won’t lose anyone. And even if we have a few brushes with death, you’ll be all right. I can’t lose you again, Della.”  
  
Della frowned and she and Scrooge studied each other.  
  
“This isn’t about me, is it?” Della said softly. “It’s about Webby.”  
  
“And the Stone of Remembrance,” Scrooge agreed. “She wants to talk to her grandmother again.”  
  
“Does it actually work? Or does it only tell people what they want to hear?” Donald asked.  
  
“I don’t know,” Scrooge answered. “No one’s seen hide nor hair of it for five hundred years. It’s a legend with very little substantial fact behind it. The last time anyone saw it, it was in Morocco. She’s been obsessed with it.”  
  
“But if it’s been lost and it’ll only give her false hope, you shouldn’t go after it,” Donald argued.  
  
“I’m afraid she’ll figure a way around me, the way the boys did when they stole the submarine with Launchpad and visited Fethry,” he replied. “Still dunno how they managed that one.”  
  
“You think she’s that determined?” Della asked, surprised.  
  
“Aye, I do. And desperate. And desperation can make people do insane things. Trust me.”  
  
He sighed and Donald, to his surprise, reached over and squeezed his shoulder. He smiled back at him.  
  
“I’d appreciate if you came with us, Della,” Scrooge said quietly. “I can’t ask Donald to come--he hates adventuring--”  
“I’ll go,” Donald said, surprising him again. Scrooge gave him a strange look. “She’s so close to the boys that she feels a little like one of my kids too.”  
  
Scrooge smiled broader. “I like the sound of that. Della? Are you sure I can’t tempt you?”  
  
Della shifted, folding her legs beneath her body in her chair. She was silent for a long moment and Scrooge didn’t push her. He knew that being in close confines with strangers, excepting him and Donald, was a lot to ask. He also knew that he might be pushing too much too soon.  
  
“I’ll go,” she said after a minute’s deliberation. “But we’re not splitting up. Or taking any uncharted routes.”  
  
She reached across her chair for Donald’s hand and he held hers. His gaze was soft as he beheld his sister.  
  
“All right,” Scrooge said, all the while wondering how he was going to manage that. Uncharted routes were often what yielded the most treasure. However, perhaps he didn’t have to tell Della that. After all, what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. With a pang, he realized that what he hadn’t known had hurt him...but he wasn’t going to think about that now. He was quite good at avoiding thinking about things that upset him.  
  
“Then when do we go?” Donald asked.  
  
“I need to get supplies and everything in order, but we’ll go next week,” Scrooge said. “After Mrs. Beakley’s funeral. Perhaps it’ll help the girl find some closure.”


	4. Chapter 4

Flintheart Glomgold never did anything out of the goodness of his heart. If anyone asked, he had no such thing. At present, he sat at another boring meeting of Glomgold Industries and listened to someone drone on and on about a business report. Glomgold didn’t care about business intricacies right now--he cared about crushing Scrooge. He hadn’t brought Della back for Scrooge because he wanted to make Scrooge happy. Quite the opposite. He was only happy when Scrooge was miserable. He’d dedicated his whole life to ensuring that McDuck suffered.  
  
Tuning out the accountant, he stared at his notes. He wasn’t above using Scrooge’s family as pawns in his schemes, but he wasn’t heartless enough to turn Della into a bomb. He just hadn’t figured out a way to turn this into an opportunity for him. Perhaps he should have ransomed Della. Would Scrooge have paid? Considering the expense he went to attempting to retrieve her, possibly.  
  
As business opportunities went, this was a squandered one, but it didn’t have to be. If he could lure Della back out to space or kidnap her, Scrooge might pay big money to get her back. He was willing to bet Scrooge had made some grandiose claim about keeping her safe when he couldn’t possibly make good on it.  
  
Or he could lure her into an elaborate death trap only for it to close on Scrooge instead. Glomgold grinned. Yes, he liked that idea. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Scrooge died, but he would be the richest living duck in the world. At least, until someone in the McDuck family claimed Scrooge’s fortune. He needed Scrooge alive to throw away his funds or fritter them away on meaningless things.  
  
He cut the accountant off mid-sentence and got up abruptly from the table. Ignoring entreaties for him to sit down and that this was important, he headed to review the security tapes. They had hours and hours of logs from Della’s time on the moon. Ever since his scientists had figured out how to retrieve the data, they’d been sifting through it. Della hadn’t known she was being recorded or she hadn’t cared at that point. From what he’d heard so far, she’d been remarkably candid when she thought she was alone.  
  
He drifted past the security room and then headed inside to see whether his team had made any progress. One of the scientists flagged him down and he sat behind a large computer monitor.  
  
“What is it?” Glomgold demanded. “This had better be important.”  
  
“We found something you might be interested in,” the scientist said and keyed up the video. Della was rambling, as she was wont to do, and he hit play at a particular segment. At first, Glomgold didn’t see the significance. After all, Della spoke at length about a lot of things, seeing as no one answered her. At a certain point, she’d started having conversations with herself or pretending to have them with Donald and Scrooge. Once, she’d had a conversation with the triplets. Forced isolation did a lot to a person. Not that Glomgold was sympathetic. It was something he noted but shrugged off.  
  
Besides, if Scrooge actually cared for his family, he wouldn’t have left Della on the moon for ten years or shunted his other nephew, Fethry, into an underwater lab.  
  
He was about to tell the scientist that he was wasting his time when Della cut in to discuss the boys’ father and how she couldn’t tell her uncle Scrooge. Intrigued, Glomgold leaned forward. He hadn’t known that the boys’ father was a secret. He knew that he wasn’t in the picture for whatever reason, but as Scrooge’s family affairs didn’t normally concern him, he hadn’t pursued the matter.  
  
“I know he wouldn’t approve,” Della whispered and rocked back and forth. She’d also done that a lot too, self-soothing to help alleviate the horrible aloneness. One video had her rocking back and forth for a good hour.  
  
“Who is he, damn you!” Glomgold demanded.  
  
Della brightened slightly, though she continued rocking. “At least it isn’t Flintheart Glomgold.”  
  
“Hey! I take offense at that! I saved you! Show some respect!”  
  
“It’s John D. Rockerduck,” Della said and, for a second, Glomgold’s mind went blank. Rockerduck hadn’t been seen in Duckburg in a long time. He was an oil tycoon who competed with Scrooge; he wasn’t as rich as himself or Scrooge and he was a bit older than Della. If he was the boys’ father, then it made sense that she wouldn’t have told Scrooge. How embarrassing for him, that his niece had dallied with one of his rivals. How scandalous.  
  
“There’s more,” the scientist said.  
  
“At least, I think he’s the father,” Della admitted and blushed. “It could be a couple other people too.”  
  
Glomgold snorted. It sounded like Della was a bit of a loose woman.  
  
She hugged her knees to her chest. “Even if he wasn’t a suitable father, I’d give anything to have him here. To have anyone here. I’m so alone…”  
  
“That’s all the pertinent parts,” the scientist said. “Did you want us to keep screening?”  
  
“I’ll tell you when you’re done,” Glomgold answered, stepping back. The scientist put his headset back on and resumed watching the video. Even without sound, Glomgold could feel Della’s despondency. All of those ships McDuck had launched and none of them had found her crashed on the moon. He almost pitied her. She was crying again, the self-soothing clearly having had no effect.  
  
Wrenching his attention away from her wretched state, he headed back to the meeting. Now that he knew he had something to exploit, he might be able to pay attention. Of course, the chances of that were slim and none, but hey, he’d gotten something accomplished today. Proud of himself, though it was his researchers that had found the clip, not him, he began plotting what to do. His mind drifted back toward Della hugging herself and rocking.  
  
Try as he might, he couldn’t quite rid himself of the image. He would torment Scrooge about this...but he would feel a little guilty, nonetheless. After everything Della had been through, he was going to make her life miserable again. But that was her fault for being related to Scrooge.  
  
Or so he told himself. As he sat back down and the accountant resumed, Glomgold wondered whether Della had suffered enough.  
  


* * *

  
  
Getting a full sentence out of Poe was an exercise in patience. As it turned out, ravens didn’t really speak in full sentences, just bits and pieces that Lena had to cobble together. Webby had gone off for her therapist appointment, albeit under protest, and Lena was sitting with the boys while they helped her figure out how Poe had turned into a raven in the first place. It was slow going.  
  
“I bet Magica knows how this happened,” Louie said, irritated.  
  
“I’m not looking for her,” Lena said, likewise annoyed, but not at Louie. “I don’t want anything to do with her, not after what she dislocated both my shoulders and sicced a bunch of pedophiles on me.”  
  
“Maybe if we gave him a computer, he could type it out?” Dewey suggested.  
  
“Have you ever seen a raven type?” Huey countered.  
  
“No, but I’ve also never seen a raven that used to be a duck, either,” Dewey pointed out.  
  
They stared at each other and then glanced over at Poe. Lena thought the typing idea had merit, but the only one that she knew had a laptop was Louie, who was not going to lend it for the experiment. Would a touchscreen suffice? She dug into her pocket and offered her phone.  
  
“It should probably be a computer, not a touchscreen,” Huey theorized. “It’d be easier for him to type since he doesn’t have hands.”  
  
“I don’t see you volunteering,” Louie grumped.  
  
“All right, fine,” Huey said and pulled out his laptop which was, to no one’s great surprise, covered in JWG stickers. The boy was obsessed. Lena rolled her eyes. It took a minute for the laptop to boot up--Donald probably couldn’t afford an expensive model. And Lena would have had a laptop if she’d needed one, but she would have stolen it, which she knew the boys and Webby would’ve disapproved of, not to mention the grown-ups.  
  
“Think you can type it out?” Huey asked, offering Poe the laptop.  
  
It took far longer than she thought it would, longer than it would have taken any of them, but Poe had written a paragraph down in about five minutes. They crowded around the computer screen to read--it had taken so long because Poe had difficulty maneuvering around the keyboard with his toes.  
  
“Magica was teaching herself how to transform into different animals,” Lena read. “She thought that it’d be good if I could do the same thing too so that I could help her steal Scrooge’s number one dime. I told her I didn’t want any part of it because of Lena, but she insisted.  
  
“Part of the spell worked. Magica can shift her form. But I got stuck because I have no magical powers.”  
  
“So we need the dime?” Louie groaned.  
  
“But we can’t trust Magica to cast a spell to change him back,” Huey objected. “She’ll take it and use it for her own gain.”  
  
“Who else do we know with magical powers?” Dewey mused and the boys looked at Lena. Lena huffed.  
  
“I couldn’t do a big spell like that,” she objected. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. The best I can do is lift small objects and make them hit other small objects.”  
  
“There’s Circe,” Huey mentioned. “But she doesn’t like men. She tends to turn them into gerbils or hamsters.”  
  
Poe huffed and Lena sympathized. Being a raven was hard enough. She didn’t think he’d enjoy being a rodent.  
  
It sounded like it was up to her and Lena swallowed hard. Poe cocked his head at her quizzically. She could ask Magica for help, she supposed, although she’d rather slit her wrists. Perhaps if they explained that this was necessary to turn Poe back, Scrooge might let them borrow the dime? Temporarily? Oh, who was she kidding? He wasn’t exactly the generous sort.  
  
“Scrooge’s number one dime is more than just money. It’s a representation of who he is as a person,” Poe continued. “It contains unfathomable power; anyone with any skill should be able to tap into it.”  
  
“So it’s not the dime itself that’s important, but the power Uncle Scrooge accidentally put into it?” Huey asked and Poe nodded.  
  
“It’s a magical artifact,” Poe confirmed.  
  
“Yeah, Uncle Scrooge will definitely let us borrow it after we explain that,” Louie said, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Is the dime the only thing that can restore you?” Lena asked. “‘Cuz I’m a little sick of trying to steal that thing. And of looking at it. And the idea of it in general.”  
  
“There are a few other artifacts that have similar power and attributes,” Poe replied. “Including the Stone of Remembrance. However, in the case of those, the item would be destroyed to change me back.”  
  
“Wasn’t that the stone Webby’s obsessed with?” Louie said with a frown.  
  
Lena nodded. She had a feeling that Webby wasn’t going to be amenable to this solution. Scrooge wouldn’t hand over the dime and Webby might not want to relinquish the stone if it meant losing her grandmother again. Her stomach clenched.  
  
“What other artifacts are there?” Lena asked.  
  
“The other artifacts haven’t been seen for millennia, to the best of my knowledge. You’d have to ask Magica if you wanted specifics.”  
  
“No, we’re good,” Louie said. He cut a glance at Lena. “Do you want to tell Webby the bad news when she gets back or should I?”  
  
“Maybe there’s a way around this,” Huey said, stubborn. “We don’t have to give up hope just yet.”  
  
“I mean, what if the stone was only partially destroyed and you could use the rest to contact Mrs. Beakley?” Dewey suggested.  
  
“Magic doesn’t work like that,” Poe replied. He showed signs of flagging and Lena could tell all this hopping around and typing was draining him. He typed out one last sentence before hopping onto her shoulder and leaning against her.  
  
“It’s all or nothing.”  
  
“Webby’s gonna kill us,” Louie said, shaking his head.  
  
“We’ll figure something out,” Huey said, determined. Lena grimaced. Poe was right. Magic didn’t work like that. It didn’t make allowances for people. She scratched her father absently behind his head and he pecked at her hair in what she assumed he meant to be an affectionate gesture.  
  
“Or she’ll totally kill us,” Lena said.  
  


* * *

  
  
Della Duck was not doing as well as she pretended. Right now, she was alone in her room and fighting a panic attack. She’d thought, after being alone for ten years, she would have loved to be surrounded by people, especially those she loved and who loved her back. She would have thought she’d jump at the opportunity to go on another adventure with her beloved Uncle Scrooge and brother Donald.  
  
Instead, she was huddled on her bed and rocking back and forth as she had in the space station. She was dangerously close to hyperventilating. Too many people. Too much conversation. Too many attempts to pretend she was okay, that she’d escaped that ordeal unscathed. Everyone was so loud, too. She understood that kids were supposed to be that way, but in her mind, they’d always been quieter. But then again, everything was quieter in her mind than in real life.  
  
Someone knocked at the door and she jumped out of her skin. She could feel her stomach leaving her body and then settling back down. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point and if it was one of the boys, she’d lose it. She couldn’t pretend to be all right in front of her children, not at the moment. It was too much.  
  
“Mom? Are you in there?” one of the boys called and she couldn’t for the life of her remember which one. How was she expected to remember this after only being here for so little time? Her panic kicked into overdrive and she cursed. Loudly.  
  
The door opened and Della shrieked. It was the one with the red hat and red shirt. She knew this. She knew which triplet it was. She...had no clue. She cursed again. Her mind had gone completely blank.  
  
“Are you okay?” he asked. She was rocking back and forth on the bed and unable to stop. It was like a compulsion. Or maybe it was a compulsion. She didn’t know. But if she stopped, she’d get even more anxious and then it’d be impossible to think about anything but doing the compulsion. Or a different one.  
  
“Mom!” he said and she whimpered.  
  
“I don’t know which one you are!” she blurted and hated the crestfallen look on his face. He looked like she’d personally attacked him and perhaps she had. “I can’t tell my boys apart…”  
  
“It’s Huey, Mom,” he said quietly. “Mom, what’s wrong?”  
  
She shook her head. She couldn’t articulate it. “Get...Donald…”  
  
She felt wretched. What kind of mother was she? She should know immediately which boy was which. She should at least be able to remember their goddamn color schemes. Or recognize their voices and put the voices with the color schemes. She’d left them for ten years and when she came back, she was still on course for the worst mother in history.  
  
“I can help you,” he protested.  
  
“Donald!” she snapped and winced inwardly at how his face crumpled. She just kept hurting him, but she couldn’t stop herself. The boys were strangers. And comforting a child right now was impossible. She could barely hold onto her sanity.  
  
“I’ll be right back,” Huey said, subdued, and left the room. Della hugged her knees tighter and sobbed. She had never wanted her children to see her like this. In her mind, they always saw her as the strong adventurer, the one who had everything together and was confident and charming.  
  
Too soon, Huey returned with her twin. She didn’t know why Huey had come back. She didn’t want him here. She didn’t want any of the triplets here.  
  
“Della!” Donald exclaimed, hurrying to her side and hugging her. “Della, ssh. Ground yourself.”  
  
She laughed humorlessly. “I don’t know how. And why is Huey still here?”  
  
“Now you remember,” Huey said sourly.  
  
“Della…” Donald soothed and stroked her hair. “It’s okay.”  
  
“No, it isn’t!” she cried. “I can’t tell my boys apart, I can barely stand to be in the room with all of you without freaking out, and I’m supposed to go on an adventure? I can’t! I can’t!”  
  
She fought hyperventilating. “I’m supposed to be able to tell which boy is which and I can’t even remember which damn color each one is!”  
  
“You’ve only been here for a little while,” he protested.  
  
“I’m their mother!” she objected. “I wasn’t there to see them hatch, I can’t remember red, green, and blue, and you’re more of a parent to them than I am!”  
  
“Huey,” Donald said. He didn’t seem to need to say the rest; he took the hint and left. Della drew a shaky breath.  
  
“I didn’t want them to see me like this…” Della whispered. She clung to her twin.  
  
“You raised them...and I got stuck on the moon…”  
  
She collapsed into sobs.  
  
“I know, I know,” he said. “You were selfish. And you paid for it hundreds of times over. The boys don’t hold it against you.”  
  
“Louie does,” she managed through a tight throat. “At least, I think it’s Louie. The one who’s in love with the girl.”  
  
“Webby,” Donald said patiently.  
  
“Louie is angry at me for leaving,” she breathed. “And I don’t blame him. I’m a terrible mother.”  
  
“You need time,” Donald said.  
  
“I hurt him. They know that I think they’re interchangeable.”  
  
She shook her head at herself. Donald rubbed her back. It was so odd--her twin had always been prone to freakouts and losing his temper. Now she was the unstable one. She was the wreck and Donald was patching her back up. She shuddered and hugged him back desperately.  
  
“I’ll talk to them.”  
  
Della laughed shakily. “I think the damage is already done, Donnie.”

* * *

  
  
As soon as Huey came back into their room, he exploded. He kicked a book aside (it wasn’t associated with the JWG, so it was safe to punt). Louie, who had been making sure his computer was fine after Poe hopping and tapping at it, looked up. Dewey was waiting near the front door for Webby to come home.  
  
“What’s up?” Louie said. “Since when do you attack books?”  
  
“She doesn’t know which is which!” he snapped. “She can’t tell us apart, Louie!”  
  
His chest heaved and he gasped back a sob. “She can’t tell us apart.”  
  
“Well, when you abandon your kids for ten years and we’re identical, what do you expect?” Louie asked, his voice thick with disgust.  
  
“We’re wearing different colored clothes! We sound different! We have different hairstyles! And she still can’t tell us apart?”  
  
“Why did you go see her alone?” he countered.  
  
“I was worried about her after she vanished after breakfast,” he replied. “And she was freaking out in her room. I tried to help but she insisted she needed Uncle Donald.”  
  
He plopped onto the bed and kicked another book aside. “She said Uncle Donald is more of a parent to us than she is.”  
  
“She’s not wrong,” Louie said. His beak twitched toward a weak smile. “Remember when Dewey called him ‘Dad’ by accident when we were three?”  
  
“This is serious,” he said and stared up at the bunk above his. Dewey must’ve been anxious about their sister.  
  
“And I’m being totally serious,” Louie said. “She calls herself our mother, but she hasn’t proven it yet. I don’t get why you and Dewey don’t get that. Just because she laid our clutch doesn’t mean she’s our mom. I tried to see things your way. I tried to give her a chance. But if she’s going to punt your heart around, then I’m not gonna put up with it.”  
  
Huey found himself in the strange position where he wanted to defend their mother to his brother but wasn’t sure how. He had nothing to say. Louie left his bunk and joined Huey.  
  
“You think Webby’s okay?” Huey asked.  
  
“She’s good at putting everyone else’s problems first,” Louie said. “But it’s not working right now. She’s falling apart.”  
  
He got up off the bed. “Let’s go watch TV or play video games. I don’t wanna think about Mom or Webby right now.”  
  
“You’re worried about her, aren’t you?”  
  
“Aren’t you?” Louie countered.  
  
“Of course I am!” Huey said and knew he didn’t need to clarify who they meant. “She’s not supposed to be like this.”  
  
“No,” Louie said quietly. “She’s not.”


	5. Chapter 5

Webby returned from the therapist still subdued. Although Scrooge had no doubt filled the therapist in on Webby’s sordid history, she hadn’t forced Webby to admit it. She wanted Webby to open up to her naturally. And normally, she’d have had no problem with that. Now, however, she was wary. Any charges that might have been filed would have been dropped--Scrooge had ensured they had never seen the light of day, so Webby wasn’t going to be tried, even as a juvenile, for killing the Bloodhound Gang leader. However, he had been required to mention what she’d done and endured to find a competent therapist.

There were things Webby could discuss other than the Bloodhound Gang, like Magica murdering her grandmother. Or how she always shunted her feelings to the side in favor of other people. However, if she didn’t discuss that stuff with the boys or Lena, what chance was there of her opening up to discuss it with a total stranger? The therapy session had consisted of her mostly rambling about the McDuck clan and her experiences with the boys and how she’d felt like she’d had a family. Then, when the subject grew too heavy, she’d changed gears.

It wasn’t healthy and she knew the therapist disapproved, but she couldn’t stop herself. She hated making people feel uncomfortable and she knew that her emotions, strong as they were, could be the cause of that. The therapist had hinted at this being a double-edged sword and Webby had agreed, though she’d been quick to change the subject again.

Back at the manor, she found Lena attempting to converse with Poe, whom she must have accepted as her father because she was no longer trying to shoo him away. Lena didn’t look up when Webby came into the living room; she was intent on whatever Poe was trying to tell her. Webby’s chest tightened. Fine, if Lena didn’t want to be bothered, Webby wouldn’t bother her. She wanted to and maybe this was self-sabotage on her part, but she didn’t.

She encountered the boys on their way toward the living room too. They were talking, but, unlike Lena, they noticed her approach. Louie took one look at her and his scowl deepened. She wasn’t sure what or who they’d been discussing before, but it hadn’t been pleasant.

“What’s going on?” she asked, eager to deflect the conversation away from her.

“What’s going on with you?” Louie countered.

“Nothing,” she said, trying to sidestep his question. “What are you so upset about?”

“Mom can’t tell the difference between us,” Huey said and underneath his disgust, there was anguish. She moved to put an arm about his shoulders; Louie was still eying her keenly and she wasn’t sure she appreciated the attention.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I went to check on Mom because she freaked out and she was having a panic attack. She wanted me to get Uncle Donald,” Huey explained. “She rejected me.”

“It’s only been a couple weeks,” Webby argued.

“It’s been two weeks and she can’t remember color coordination?” Huey protested, puffing up in indignation. “That’s ridiculous. She doesn’t want to know who we are.”

“Give her the benefit of the doubt,” Dewey said. “She’s probably got some issues from being stuck up there in space for ten years. And maybe she panicked when she saw you.”

“Why are you defending her?” Huey countered.

“Why aren’t you?” Dewey shot back.

“Webby,” Louie said, determined to bring the conversation back to her. “Therapists are supposed to make you feel better. Unless, you know, they’re part of the big con and they’re just taking your money for nothing. But I don’t think Uncle Scrooge would’ve hired someone like that.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, but her voice trembled and the other two triplets, engaged in an argument, looked toward her. She attempted to muster a smile to reassure them, but it fell flat.

“You’ve been having nightmares almost every night,” Louie pressed and it irritated her. Why was he so determined to push this on her? They had their own problems. She didn’t need to be one of them. It was like after her grandmother had died and they’d been shoving their way into her life to supposedly make her feel better. They were supposed to be family, were they? Why couldn’t they leave her alone?

“And you won’t talk about them,” he persisted.

“You aren’t supposed to know about them,” she snapped back. “It’s bad enough I have to relive what happened to me. I don’t need you to know.”

Huey stopped in mid-step. Dewey, whose mouth had been open to debate something else, shut his beak abruptly. Webby balled her fists and Louie squeezed her shoulder.

“I don’t need your pity,” she snapped.

“It’s not pity,” Huey said. “We’re worried about you. You always put everyone else first and then you bury your feelings. It’s not healthy. And, if you’re going to keep coming into our room and having nightmares, you might as well tell us what they’re about.”

“I’ll stop going to see you,” she said sharply and Huey hissed.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said.

He’d released her, but Louie hadn’t. Louie’s gaze was keen on her, too keen. She pushed him away, perhaps too hard because he staggered, and charged off. She didn’t know where she was going, just that she needed to get away. Unfortunately, the boys weren’t taking the hint.

“Webby!” Huey said harshly and she stopped, whirling around to confront him. Her chest was tight.

“Let us in,” Dewey pleaded. “We get if you don’t trust the therapist and we get that you’re upset over everything, but you can’t keep acting like it doesn’t bother you. We know that it does.”

She searched their faces. They all looked intent and Louie’s eyes narrowed.

“I told you before, Webby, you’re a terrible liar,” Louie said. “You have to tell us what happened. Even if you don’t give us the details, at least give us something.”

Webby swallowed past the constriction in her throat. Her beak trembled and she balled her fists tighter. What was she supposed to tell them? That her nightmares were embellishing what had happened and making it a thousand times worse? That she felt like she’d disappointed her granny by being attacked in the first place? That she was weak and pathetic because she couldn’t fend off two people with guns?

Her gaze dropped. She wanted to steer the conversation back to their problems with Della, but her throat was too tight to permit speech.

“I can’t,” she managed after a minute. The boys surrounded her and although the desire to flee had faded, she now felt rooted to the floor.

“How bad was it?” Dewey asked earnestly and thumbed away tears that had slipped down her cheeks. She glanced up at him.

In a low voice, she said, “I should have done something. I should have stopped them. I was trained to defend myself…”

“They had two guns to your head,” Huey said. “How could you have possibly fended them off?”

“I should have done something!” she said sharply, glowering at him. “And Granny…”

“Mrs. B wouldn’t have been upset with you,” Louie said and she jerked her head at him.

“Don’t you understand?” she asked, searching his gaze. “That’s why I have to find the Stone of Remembrance. I have to talk to her again. I have to tell her what happened.”

The boys exchanged an indecipherable look that grated on her nerves. She hated when they did that triplet thing and excluded her. It was like they had a whole other language that only they could learn.

“Uh, about the stone…” Dewey said and Louie elbowed him in the ribs. “Ow! What?”

Louie jerked his head at him.

“What about the stone?” she asked, querulous. She wasn’t sure she liked where this was heading. “I need it. I need to talk to her again. I have to know.”

Her breath caught in her throat and she shook her head. Dewey continued thumbing her tears away. He cupped her cheek in his palm and she saw the same desire in his eyes that Louie had. Great. That was what she’d thought. Two of the three triplets had a crush on her. Just what she needed--more complications. How she’d end up so lucky?

“There’s something you don’t know about the Stone,” Dewey began cautiously.

“I thought you’d get the hint when I elbowed you,” Louie snapped and stepped on his older brother’s foot. Dewey yelped and released Webby to push Louie. Louie shoved him back and Huey groaned, rolling his eyes. He stepped in between them and wound up in the middle of their altercation. Well, she’d wanted attention off herself. She supposed she ought to take what she could get.

However, her interest was piqued. “What about the Stone?”

“It’s--” Dewey started and Louie clamped a hand over his beak. Dewey tried to bite him and kicked him in the stomach. They rolled over, Huey again trying to intervene to no avail.

“It’s what?” she pressed.

“Worry about it after we get it, okay?” Louie said. He huffed at Dewey, who growled back. Glancing up, he met Webby’s gaze. “Uncle Scrooge said we’ll search for it after Mrs. B’s funeral.”

Oh. That. Her stomach dropped and her intensity faded. Somehow, her grandmother’s funeral had slipped her mind. Perhaps that was a good thing, although she’d been hyperfocused on the Stone to the exclusion of everything else.

“Right,” she said quietly. She dropped her gaze again and the boys stopped fighting long enough to hug her. She hugged them back after a brief pause. Maybe...maybe she could tell Lena what had happened. Telling the boys was one thing. They were innocent and relatively carefree, excepting this drama with their mother. Lena, however, had grown up on the streets. She would know a thing or two, even if Webby didn’t want to think about how she knew it.

That assumed that Lena wanted to talk to her. She’d been preoccupied with her father, which was understandable. As for Wren, Webby wasn’t ready to confide in her mother, the reasons being two-fold. For one thing, she barely knew her mother more than she knew the therapist and didn’t trust her yet. For another, her mother’s similar experience had led to Webby’s conception, which meant she wasn’t keen on hearing about it.

The boys broke away from her and she sighed; Dewey came back to hug her again and she rested her head on his shoulder. He rubbed her back.

“You can tell us anything, you know,” Dewey said. Her mind flashed back to her nightmare and, for some reason, to her tail stuck on a nail. That was oddly the most poignant part of her nightmare, having her tail stuck as she was ravaged.

“Maybe...maybe I can’t tell you the details, but I can tell you something,” she allowed. Dewey started to pull back, but she latched onto him.

“Like what?” Dewey asked.

She wished Lena would show up and distract them. Or that one of the adults would walk by and change the conversation. Things were getting too intense and she wished they could stop. She wished they could just be kids again. What was wrong with that? What was wrong with wanting to be innocent again?

“I’ve been having nightmares about...about Granny dying...or watching me...watching me…” she was stumbling over the words. She’d only said what had happened to her once before and that had been in the heat of the moment against Magica.

“Watching me being raped and not doing anything,” she said in such a low voice that the triplets had to strain to hear her.

“She wouldn’t have done that,” Huey said.

“She would’ve kicked their ass,” Louie agreed. He cupped her cheek.

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “But I let it happen--”

“You didn’t let it happen,” Louie said hotly. “You didn’t deserve it. And your grandmother wouldn’t have sided with people who hurt you. She loved you, Webby. She was like us--she didn’t want to see anything happen to you.”

Webby shook her head, not refuting Louie so much as refusing to hear it. Her knees wobbled and they guided her into the living room, where Lena looked up from her conversation with her now passed out on the couch raven father. Lena took one look at Webby’s face and whistled sharply. The boys looked up, startled.

“All right, girl talk,” Lena said. “You can all clear out.”

“No,” Webby said weakly. “I want them here. You all deserve to hear it.”

Maybe then they’d leave her alone and they could all get some peace.

She half walked to, half fell on the couch beside her girlfriend. Lena pulled her into her arms and stroked her hair. Maybe it was finally time to stop holding it all in. Maybe if she admitted this much, at least, she’d be able to sleep tonight. That seemed like a pipe dream, but she’d take what she could get.

“Right, so...you know about my running away from Lena and running into the Bloodhound Gang…” Webby began.

* * *

Wren knew that her daughter needed her. She’d neglected her for so long and now it was like her mother’s intuition was coming in at her at three or four times the normal strength. The door to the living room was closed and she assumed that was where the kids had gone. If Webby had wanted her, she would have sought her out. Wren had to believe that. She didn’t, but she would pretend otherwise.

Webby wouldn’t seek her out when she was upset. She was too used to talking to the triplets and Lena. Besides, Wren got the impression Webby didn’t often seek anyone out when it came to her problems. She preferred to suppress them and keep them from bothering anyone. It was a family trait.

She wanted to eavesdrop, but she was an adult and supposed to be above that. That didn’t mean she wanted to be, but she would strive to be trustworthy. And eavesdropping didn’t constitute as being trustworthy.

So she’d have to be patient and wait and hope Webby changed her mind. In the meanwhile...speaking with her daughter had stirred up a can of worms that was better off left alone. She only vaguely remembered her encounter with Steelbeak, the one-night stand that had led to Webby. As a result, while she did have PTSD and nightmares, they were nothing like Webby’s in-depth nightmares, she sensed. Webby hadn’t been intoxicated or drugged when she’d been raped, not to mention she’d been younger, which made it so much worse.

The fact of the matter was that she didn’t feel like she belonged here in the manor. Scrooge McDuck had been kind enough to grant her a room here, only for Webby’s benefit, and she knew he’d rather she holed up in a hotel nearby rather than impinge upon them. She knew Della and Donald, but only as passing acquaintances. She couldn’t confide in them.

Not to mention she had to account for her missing so much of Webby’s life. She’d missed all of the milestones. Wren grimaced, knowing there was no way to account for it. She couldn’t ask her mother, either, because her mother was gone. No wonder Webby was so fixated on that stone. Wren wouldn’t have minded a crack at it herself.

There would have to be a way for her to insert herself into Webby’s life. Mrs. Beakley’s death had left a hole there and a crueler person would say she could exploit it. She didn’t intend to do that. She barely knew her daughter--she didn’t want to risk scaring her off.

The only other mother she knew here was Della, who was batting a thousand with her sons. She could ask Donald, she supposed. Donald was the closest thing to a successful parental figure. Of course, half of what he said was unintelligible, but maybe if she could figure out what he wanted to say, she could work from there.

With that plan in mind, she set out to find Donald on his sailboat located in the middle of Scrooge McDuck’s swimming pool. She wasn’t sure why he didn’t just move into the manor properly, but perhaps some fences couldn’t be mended so quickly.  


* * *

By the time she finished, Webby was wrung out and exhausted. She was curled up in Lena’s lap and Lena was stroking her hair. It was soothing and all Webby wanted to do was go back to sleep and hopefully have a dreamless slumber. She could’ve used that elixir Scrooge had offered her earlier, though she didn’t know where to locate more.

The triplets and Lena looked stunned. Well, Lena much less so than the triplets. She hadn’t given them details, but she must have painted a strong enough picture for them to comprehend the gist of it. She wasn’t used to divulging so much about her emotions and she sought out Lena’s hand. Lena held it and then bent over to kiss Webby on the crown of the head.

“How could you keep all of this from us for so long?” Louie demanded.

“It was easy,” Webby murmured. “You’ve got your own problems.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t be there for yours,” Huey objected. “We care about you. You’re, like, our sister.”

“‘Like’ our sister,” Louie muttered and Huey shot him a sharp look. Webby knew Louie and Dewey harbored more than sisterly feelings toward her.

“You need to tell us,” Huey persisted. “You can’t bottle it all up.”

“But you were dealing with the stuff with your mom and then Poe showed up and…” she trailed off, as the boys and Lena were giving her dirty looks.

“We’ll always be there for you,” Huey promised. “But you have to tell us when you need to talk. We’re not psychic, Webs.”

“I know...I…” she yawned.

“Maybe we should leave her alone to take a nap,” Lena suggested. “Or, you can leave and I’ll stay here.”

She seemed put out that Webby hadn’t sought her out last night and Webby felt a pang of guilt over that. The boys shook their heads and Lena rolled her eyes.

“Fine, have it your way,” she said. Webby closed her eyes and relaxed. Without even trying, she fell fast asleep within minutes.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Glomgold was watching one of Della’s tapes out of idle curiosity. If you watched them from the very beginning toward the end of her stay on the moon, you could watch her sanity unravel. It was fascinating, in a macabre way. In this particular tape, which his crew had highlighted for him, Della was explaining her rendezvous with John D. Rockerduck that had led to Huey, Dewey, and Louie. Glomgold didn’t care about the sordid romantic details and was tuning those out. The pertinent facts, on the other hand, interested him greatly. Della had thought perhaps he might have searched for her too, which she now knew (as did everyone else) that this wasn’t true.  
  
He had yet to twist this information to his advantage, however. What he ought to do was contact John D. Rockerduck, if he could find the old coot. Talk about a May-December romance. He snorted. Still, he sent a message to one of his scientists to locate him so Glomgold could have a proper discussion with him.  
  
Luring Della out of the manor would be tricky, though he needed to do that for his plan to succeed. She’d be disinclined to wander out by herself, particularly in terms of adventuring. The Spear of Selene had taught her the importance of being cautious. But...maybe he didn’t need to lure her that far. Maybe all he needed to do was replicate the Spear’s environment and cause her to have a PTSD moment. Scrooge would come running and then...and then what? He growled, annoyed at himself that his plan had petered out so quickly.  
  
If he killed Scrooge, which he totally could, he’d just been saving up for the sweet moment of revenge, then he’d have access to his fortune if he ransomed Della. However, he remembered that in the past, she’d proven rather formidable. It didn’t help his case that she loathed him. The feeling was mutual, but irrelevant right now.  
  
What could replicate the dangers of space beyond oxygen deprivation? He didn’t want to get his hands dirty by attacking him; besides, Scrooge had remarkable physical prowess for his age. Glomgold entertained no fantasies about being able to best him mano a mano. Not until he grew buff and attracted all the ladies, which would happen any moment now. Just you watch.  
  
What if he designed a series of elaborate traps with increasing risk until the last one, which Scrooge thought he’d bested, killed him? He grinned. Yes, he could create mental puzzles. Of course, that assumed Scrooge would come by himself or with Donald. But surely Scrooge wasn’t foolhardy enough to bring the kids with him.  
  
He sneered. He wasn’t fond of the kids either. They were too inquisitive and prying for their own good and sooner or later, that would come to bite them in the ass.  
  
However, the kids would hold an allure for Della, so if he could trap them, he could ensnare her too. Then again, the Beagle Boys hadn’t done a good job of it. (Although the Beagle Boys had IQs that rangled in the double digits). The problem was that he didn’t know the kids well enough to beguile them and taking the time to find out about them would create too long a delay. Plus...none of them would believe for a second that he’d changed or mended his ways. That was out.  
  
He shut off the tape as Della rocked back and forth with tears streaming down her face. Using the kids would be the equivalent of the cat that ate the rat that lived in the house, etc. Even for him, it was too elaborate. Plus, the target was Scrooge, not Della. What if he used something that sounded like the kids in trouble, which would draw Della, and then draw Scrooge when Della didn’t return? It’d probably bring Donald in too, but he’d deal with that later. Donald was extraneous.  
  
Since the kids had been on TV, their voices were recorded and his scientists should be able to manipulate them if they had enough clips. At least, that was the assumption. Not five minutes after sending out the order, someone replied saying that there weren’t enough clips. Glomgold would have to put a recording device inside McDuck Manor, which meant getting into McDuck Manor, and he wouldn’t be able to sneak in. Scrooge’s new security system would cream anyone who tried. It was even shielded against magic thanks to Magica’s interference.  
  
Not that Glomgold held much truck with magic, anyway. Like Scrooge, he considered it a shortcut to earning your money, although he wouldn’t say no to it if something landed in his lap. But he refused to expend more energy to obtain magic than it would have taken to get the object the mundane way.  
  
But what else would draw someone’s attention like children in danger? If he couldn’t record them inside the manor, perhaps all he needed to do was get someone to manipulate their voices so it sounded like they were screaming. That, it seemed, was doable.  
  
Now, with that settled, where could he lure Della? Off-planet would have been optimal, but he knew he’d have to disguise the spaceship. Della wouldn’t willingly board a rocket after the Spear of Selene incident. Della wasn’t wandering about town very much, either, which meant he’d have to lure her out of McDuck Manor. He’d have to do so in a way that meant the kids weren’t with her or within close proximity, otherwise, she’d smell a rat.  
  
Well, she’d have to go shopping eventually, wouldn’t she? There was no way that the clothes still in the manor would necessarily fit her and the styles would have changed. He could always lure her out, chloroform her, and then drag her into a car that would then transition her to a rocket ship. Hmm, if he did that, then did he really need the kids’ voices? Couldn’t he just have someone sneak up on her and knock her out?  
  
Oh, well, he’d keep the kids’ voices. The plan didn’t feel right unless it had multiple parts. The simplest plans supposedly were the ones that stayed together better and Glomgold ought to know since he’d been playing the con game a long time, but there was just something about an elaborate plot that got him in the heart.  
  
He’d set his tech guys on manipulating the kids’ voices. The boys would probably be the most effective, seeing as he doubted she’d made any meaningful connection with Webby. Feh. He hated the lot of them. They got in his way. He had no use for people who held onto each other instead of tossing them aside and seizing what was really important, which was gold and more gold.  
  
He probably would’ve made a good dragon, come to think of it. Sneering, he straightened up and stretched, listening to his joints crack. Ah, he’d been sitting at the computer for too long and he wasn’t overly enamored of the things. Technology was necessary in this day and age, but he was one of the peculiar people whose tech seemed to go awry for no apparent reason. Things that worked perfectly well right before he touched them seemed to quit suddenly. Someone would be able to fix it and it’d work for a few minutes up until he somehow broke it again. It baffled and infuriated him.  
  
As he left the computer screen, he cast one last look at Della. The woman herself was probably securely ensconced in the manor. What if she didn’t do her own shopping? What then? She could force Donald or the kids to do it. (At least she wouldn’t be sending Mrs. Beakley, ha. He didn’t miss that woman one bit). However, there was a very real possibility she wouldn’t leave the manor’s safety. He needed to ensure she did.  
  
So he’d have to lure her out when the kids and Scrooge were gone. His gaze fell upon a newspaper on the table beside the computer. Scrooge McDuck was having a funeral for Mrs. Beakley on Saturday. That would leave almost everyone out of the house. Would Della attend? She probably hadn’t known Mrs. Beakley very well. Perhaps she’d feel disconnected and linger in the manor.  
  
He recalled how easily Magica had gained access to the manor...and then how much Scrooge had beefed up his security since then. Typical Magica de Spell, ruining it for everyone. He had no use for her either.  
  
Still, it did pose a problem. He stroked his fake beard in contemplation. The funeral might also mean lax security. Scrooge might want other people, such as former SHUSH agents, to attend. He’d have to keep his security from annihilating everyone on sight. Yes, the funeral sounded like the best opportunity he’d have to strike. Perhaps it was a bit morbid, but oh well. Glomgold didn’t care much for conventions and even less for who might be hurt in the bargain.  
  
Should he invite himself to the funeral too? It would give him a legitimate excuse to be there. And once there, he could lure her out the back way, use chloroform on her, and drag her off. Still...there had been that incident with the Wendigo he remembered hearing about a while back. Della might not be so easy to corral. In that case, he had best be on his guard.  
  
A smile crossed his beak.  _“It’s Flintheart Glomgold!” “Aye, and it always will be!”_  
  
Another doubt flitted through his mind. He hadn’t forgotten Scrooge hitting him, either. Not exactly a love tap, that. Scrooge would be enraged to find Della missing and Glomgold as the culprit. He might be treading on thin ice here. Oh well. No one ever got rich(er) by not taking risks.  
  
And he had a feeling this risk was going to pay dividends. Only a few days until Saturday. He could wait that long. After all, he’d been waiting his whole life for a chance to one-up Scrooge McDuck.

* * *

  
  
She owed Huey an apology, but the boy was reluctant to talk to her. It seemed that he was fully capable of holding grudges and while she hadn’t meant to divulge that she couldn’t tell them apart, he had taken it to heart. Donald said that the boys needed time to adjust to her presence. She couldn’t leave them alone again--they’d never forgive her. The problem was that she didn’t think they’d forgive her now, either. Louie shot her dark looks over the dinner table, Huey wouldn’t look at her at all, and Dewey was the only one who defended her. Stalwart Dewey, the middle child and so very desperate for attention, especially from her.  
  
She’d tried to get closer to Webby, thinking that it might help her situation with Huey and Louie. This didn’t seem like the right time to do it, however. Webby was barely speaking to the triplets. As for her, Webby was polite and nothing else. She couldn’t be drawn into conversation, which was odd because, as Dewey had told her, normally Webby would’ve been all over her.  
  
She had conflicting feelings about attending the funeral. For one thing, she wasn’t sure she was welcome. She hadn’t known Mrs. Beakley well and while the house grieved for her, she was left out in the proverbial cold. It wasn’t her place to be there, she decided. If the boys wanted her there, they’d say something. Otherwise, she would remain in the manor where it was safe.  
  
Relatively speaking. Panic attacks came with alarming frequency. She thought they’d stop once she returned to Earth. She thought she’d be back to normal, damn it. Why wasn’t she back to normal? What was wrong with her?  
  
At present, she sat in the boys’ room. The boys were with Lena and Webby at the moment and that strange raven Lena claimed was her father. Lena was another odd-ball. Della wasn’t sure how she fit into the family dynamic, but Scrooge claimed she was or would soon be a McDuck. That had set Louie to grumbling until Lena had proclaimed she didn’t really care about his wealth; Louie clearly had designs on Scrooge’s fortune.  
  
Lena was brusque and unapproachable. She spent her time either buried in her phone or at Webby’s side. Or else shut up in her room doing heaven knew what. As far as she’d been able to ascertain, Lena was Webby’s girlfriend and loosely connected to the boys. She was working on who was close to them first and who, besides Donald, knew them best.  
  
She knew Wren was in a similar situation. Wren couldn’t make inroads with Webby, who was too deep in the throes of grief to recognize her mother’s overtures. The difference, however, was that Wren had chosen to miss her daughter’s life for fear of Steelbeak interfering. Della hadn’t chosen to miss her children’s hatchings. It was supposed to be a test run, goddamn it.  
  
No. That wasn’t being fair to Wren. No matter how little she liked it, she had chosen to miss her children’s lives too. It weighed heavily on her. She’d gone out for a quick jaunt in the Spear of Selene and, as a result, she might have lost her connection with her boys for a good long while. Not forever, because she refused to believe that she had no hope of a relationship with them, but these wounds would be slow to mend. They had festered for so long.  
  
She had no idea when Scrooge had told them the truth. She knew it hadn’t been Donald and, according to Louie, her absence had caused a schism in the family. She also knew that the reason for her absence was part of why Louie was so deadset against her most of the time. If someone like her could figure out all the angles and assess the situation so adroitly, how had she ended up crash landing on the moon?  
  
Scrooge had been kind enough to allot a room to her that was somewhat near the boys’ tower room, which had been her room with Donald. She glanced around their room now and saw Louie’s laptop, which was fingerprint and facial recognition locked. Huey wasn’t as circumspect, but his password was a response to an obscure Junior Woodchuck Guidebook query and she didn’t have the faintest clue what the answer was. Donald had never been a Junior Woodchuck.  
  
As for Dewey...his laptop was missing. The boys had theirs color coded with stickers, lest they confuse them, and she felt guilty for wanting to snoop. Or needing to snoop, because she couldn’t get information any other way. She was such a horrible mother.  
  
Sighing, she pushed herself up from Louie’s bunk. Sulking wouldn’t get her anywhere. She headed for Lena’s room, where she could hear the children talking. Or, rather, Lena and the triplets. Webby was taciturn. They had left the door open and she glimpsed Webby sitting in a corner of the room and watching mutely. Something about it wrenched at Della’s heart.  
  
She knocked on the door rather than stride in and the conversation died away.  
  
“Mom? What are you doing here?” Huey asked.  
  
“I wanted to be around you,” she said.  
  
“Can you be around us?” Huey asked, a loaded question if she’d ever heard one. “I understand about panic attacks. Uncle Donald and I get them a lot. But...what you did before…”  
  
“I know. I’m sorry,” she said. “I truly am. It’s going to take me a while to adjust to life back on Earth and knowing that I missed eleven years of my babies’ lives. And I am so sorry for that.”  
  
Louie’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at her and then at the corner, where Webby seemed to be doing her best to hide. Louie scowled, putting his back to his mother, and walked over to Webby.  
  
“Webs?” he said quietly.  
  
“What? Oh. Sorry,” she said, shaking her head and blinking. “I was just thinking.”  
  
“To yourself?” Louie asked.  
  
“That’s usually how thinking works,” Huey said sarcastically and Louie ignored him. Or, rather, she thought he had, until she saw him discreetly flip his older brother off.  
  
“You normally think out loud. Loudly. With charts. And diagrams. You should be all over Poe being turned into a raven and figuring out how to change him back based on magic books you smuggled into the house right under Scrooge’s beak,” Louie said.  
  
Webby’s gaze was far away again and Della wondered at what point Louie had lost her.  
  
“Webs, c’mon, seriously,” he begged. “You’re scaring us.”  
  
“Hey,” Lena said, nudging Poe aside and joining her girlfriend and Louie. “Come back to us. We’ll even let you make lists. And all that tedious stuff you really like.”  
  
“I thought I was making the lists?” Huey asked, affronted.  
  
And just like that, Della was forgotten. Or, at least, she thought she was. Dewey caught her eye.  
  
“Mom?” Dewey said softly. “Maybe you can help. Do you know anything about magic?”  
  
“A little,” she said with a small smile, grateful that Dewey was trying to bring her into the fold, for whatever good that would do. “I dated a sorceress for a while.”  
  
“You dated Aunt Magica?” Lena exclaimed, her attention riven from Webby’s plight. “You’re kidding me, right?”  
  
Della blushed. Dated her, slept with her. The kids didn’t need to know the particulars. Uncle Scrooge would have blown a gasket if he knew she’d been sleeping with one of his mortal enemies. Another one, at any rate. Not that he considered Rockerduck a mortal enemy so much as a business rival.  
  
“She was very charming…” Della said, blushing harder. “That’s not important right now. What is important is finding the right book to help you.”  
  
“If you’re still friendly with Magica…” Dewey suggested and Della shook her head.  
  
“Magica hates me now,” she said with a small smile. “No wonder. Magica was never really fond of anyone but Gladstone.”  
  
At the name, the kids exchanged looks she couldn’t decipher. Had she missed a cue? So much had happened right before she’d returned to Earth that she couldn’t always follow everything.  
  
“You think, if we recruited Gladstone, he might be able to help us get the right book from Magica?” Huey asked.  
  
“He owes me one,” Lena said, eyes narrowing. “He should have rescued me from the Bloodhound Gang and didn’t. As far as I’m concerned, he’d better start paying up.”  
  
“Why is Magica so fond of Gladstone, anyway?” Huey asked.  
  
“Luck and magic are very similar,” Della said. “They were both outcasts growing up. And Gladstone can be charming when he’s not being a jerk. Magica’s always had a soft spot for him.”  
  
“It’s hard to imagine Aunt Magica having a soft spot for anyone,” Lena grumbled. “Considering how much of a bitch she is.”  
  
“I’ll get in touch with Gladstone for you,” she volunteered. “It’s the least I can do.”  
  
“Literally,” Louie grumbled, but he looked appreciative just the same.  
  
“Webby?” Della ventured. Now that she had worked out where to start with Lena’s problem, she wondered if there was any way to help Webby in turn. The young girl looked forlorn and lost, which was entirely too familiar. Della ought to know that spending enough time in your head was never a good idea, especially when you had demons you couldn’t exorcise.  
  
“I’m fine,” Webby said in that distracted way that the boys and Lena found alarming.  
  
“The more you say that, the less we believe it,” Huey said.  
  
“Really, I am,” Webby said, but her affect was flat and unnerving. “I’m just gonna go in my room for a bit. Research the Stone of Remembrance.”  
  
“Uh, about that--” Dewey started and Louie elbowed him hard in the ribs.  
  
“I’ll find it, even if I have to search everywhere. Even if I spend my life searching,” she vowed and then left the room. She moved past Della while barely acknowledging her presence. It set off alarm bells in her mind. Webby was just desperate enough to do something drastic and that seemed far more important than whatever was going on with Poe the raven duck. Desperate people did awful things to get what they wanted and most of the time, at least in her case, they didn’t succeed.  
  
“Can I help with her?” she asked once Webby was out of earshot.  
  
Louie faltered, looking on the verge of telling her no, she couldn’t. Yet something within him clearly wanted her to help Webby. He was so worried about her that his antagonism toward Della had lost traction.  
  
“I don’t know,” Huey said honestly. “I’m starting to wonder if anyone can.”  
  
“I’ll talk to Wren,” she suggested and Louie scoffed.  
  
“Wren can’t help. She barely knows her daughter,” Louie objected, the implication beneath his tone clear. Della flinched.  
  
“We have to find the Stone of Remembrance and restore Poe,” Huey said. “But if we do that…”  
  
“Then Webby will never be able to speak to Mrs. Beakley again,” Dewey said morosely.  
  
Della frowned. “I see.”  
  
“Do you? Do you really?” Louie asked. “Because I don’t think you two get it.”  
  
“Leave Mom alone,” Dewey said. “She’s doing the best she can.”  
  
“Oh, really?” Louie countered. “Which triplet am I?”  
  
“You’re Louie,” she said and stifled a groan. “And Huey is the one with the book in his hand and Dewey is the one on the laptop.”  
  
“So you  _can_ tell us apart,” Huey said quietly.  
  
“It was a moment of panic, I wasn’t thinking, and I’m sorry. Again. Please accept my apology, Huey,” she said and lowered her head.  
  
Louie was watching her and appraising her for something.  
  
“If you think you can get Webs out of her shell, be my guest,” Louie said after a moment’s deliberation. “But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webby and Lena have their first real argument and Glomgold continues to plot against Della and Scrooge.

Webby was, as she’d stated, researching the Stone of Remembrance. Before Della had left on what might be a fruitless endeavor, Louie had warned her that the Stone was required to restore Poe to his original form. Webby didn’t know this yet and the boys were reticent to tell her (with the exception of Dewey, who had to be continually silenced lest he let it slip prematurely). Della felt caught in the middle. She barely knew Mrs. Beakley, as she had started shortly before Della’s ill-fated moon trip. She knew Magica better than she knew Mrs. B, all things told, and it didn’t sit well with her. Somehow, she didn’t think she’d get brownie points for having been intimate with Webby’s grandmother’s killer. Quite the opposite, in fact.  
  
She found Wren standing outside Webby’s door with her hand raised to knock. Upon spying Della, she lowered it again. Wren was a slim bird with brown feathers scattered about her head and body. For someone who used to be a SHUSH agent, she seemed rather high-strung and anxious, unless that was a result of having been a SHUSH agent. Della frowned at her.  
  
“I know it’s ridiculous,” Wren told her. “But I’m afraid to knock.”  
  
“She’s your daughter. I’m only her friend’s mother.”  
  
Not even best friend, at that. Lena was supposed to be Webby’s best friend and girlfriend; the boys were either unofficial brothers to Webby or a strange combination of friend and wanna-be boyfriends. Louie hadn’t given up on that, despite Lena ‘claiming’ Webby. It was all rather confusing and not something she cared to examine at length. Besides, Louie was keeping things from her and she didn’t want to pry. She didn’t want to press her position as their mother, because she feared doing so might mean difficulty ahead with trust.  
  
“Then why are you here?”  
  
“She’s the unofficial fourth nephew, the boys’ sister.”  
  
Wren raised her eyebrows, as though this was a dubious claim. Della knew it was. And here they were, standing outside of Webby’s door as if the girl in question couldn’t hear them. Where was Lena, on that note? Was she listening to them too? Della flushed, feeling like she’d been caught eavesdropping.  
  
Yet no one came to the door. Della rapped on the door and then tried the knob. It was locked. She raised her eyebrows. Unless things had changed greatly since she’d lived here, no one locked their doors in McDuck Manor. Oh, sure, Uncle Scrooge did it on rare occasion, when he didn’t want to be disturbed during a highly important business meeting. However, that was the exception to the rule. Wren pressed her head against the door.  
  
“Webby?” Wren ventured and a frown creased her forehead. Her hand was shaking as she knocked on the door too.  
  
The door unlocked and Lena poked her head through the door. Della cocked her head to see beyond her, but Lena narrowed the opening so that they could barely see her, let alone her companion. She didn’t need to see her, however. She could hear Webby crying and her motherly instincts, long dormant, prompted her to push the door open further. Lena shoved it back.  
  
“She doesn’t want to see anyone,” Lena said flatly.  
  
“She needs--” Wren started and Lena growled at her. Della blinked.  
  
“She needs to be left alone,” Lena snapped. It wasn’t “fuck off”, not in so many words, but the implication was clear. With the door wedged further open than it had been, Della could see that Webby was attempting to calm herself down to confront them. According to what she’d heard from Dewey, Webby suppressed her emotions to make everyone around her feel all right. That hadn’t been going very well lately and it wasn’t healthy.  
  
“I’m okay,” Webby said in a weak, faltering voice that clearly gave the lie to her words. “Lena, it’s all right.”  
  
Her voice quivered and Webby swiped furiously at her cheeks.  
  
“No offense,” Lena snapped, “but she doesn’t need your help.”  
  
“I’m all right,” Webby repeated and joined her girlfriend at the door. Her lower beak quivered and Lena glared at them as if it was their fault that Webby was crying. Della’s heart wrenched. Tears streaked her cheeks and she attempted to master herself.  
  
“Besides, you’re Della Duck, the grand adventurer,” Webby said and gasped back a sob. “I mean, you’re legendary.”  
  
“For crashing on the moon,” Lena spat. Della wasn’t sure the antagonism was really directed at her or just to keep her from badgering Webby. It also could’ve been because Lena was a teenager. Della had had plenty of time to reflect on those lonely years on the moon and recall her rebellious nature. Against her better judgment, she found herself liking Lena. She still grated on her nerves, in that she was being overprotective regarding Webby, but she understood it too. She loved her and, as far as Lena was concerned, Della and Wren still had to prove they belonged in Webby’s life.  
  
“Yes,” Della said, not denying it. There was no point in doing so.  
  
“You can’t bottle it all up. You need to talk about it,” Wren pressed.  
  
“She doesn’t need to talk to you about it,” Lena countered.  
  
“Lena, it’s okay,” Webby said and placed a hand on her girlfriend’s cheek. “Give me a few minutes--”  
  
Lena shut the door in their faces and although she couldn’t hear the individual words, Della caught a susurrus of conversation behind the door.  
  
“I wonder who’s winning?” Wren commented, gesturing toward the door.  
  
“The boys said Webby never cries, but she has to be missing her grandmother. And then, with everything else that happened…” Della frowned. “She’s been holding it in.”  
  
“The British way,” Wren said with such disdain that Della did a double take.  
  
“I take it you weren’t close with your mother.”  
  
“I wasn’t close to my emotionally constipated mother, no.” She folded her arms across her chest and then relented. “I didn’t realize she had her own way of expressing herself. She must’ve changed how she raised Webby. I never had a chance to talk to her about it. Or about Webby. I let...I let this happen. If I hadn’t abandoned Webby…”  
  
She shook her head and forced a smile. In it, Della saw Webby’s feigned attempt at normalcy. “That’s neither here nor there. It’s not important right now. Webby is.”  
  
“Come back in an hour,” Lena said, poking her head out the door. It looked like she’d won the argument, though she didn’t seem smug about it. Instead, she looked upset too. Della opened her mouth to say something and Lena’s expression darkened.  
  
“Don’t,” she warned. “You can’t help.”  
  
Then she slammed the door in their faces. Della wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting of the encounter, though she had thought it would’ve proceeded differently. Stymied, she glanced at the other woman. Wren scowled and then wrung her hands. A raven was cawing outside of Webby’s window and Wren facepalmed.  
  
“That damned bird,” she muttered and Della wasn’t sure whether she was cursing it because the girls were bound to let him in whereas they were currently verboten or because he required the Stone too. In truth, she wasn’t sure it mattered, either way. Lena had barred their access, albeit temporarily. Within an hour, Webby should be composed and the moment would be gone.  
  
“Should we be glad that she’s at least letting Lena see her vulnerable?” Wren muttered. She hadn’t moved away from the door and looked tempted to kick it in frustration.  
  
“She knows Lena and the boys better than us,” Della said, resigned. She wasn’t looking forward to Louie’s reaction to their failure. “She probably feels more comfortable around them than us.”  
  
Donald had warned her this might happen. The boys weren’t particularly open to her, though they were more forthcoming than Webby. Shoulders hunched, she stepped away. To her consternation, however, Wren stayed put. The other woman glared at the door as if she could cut a hole through it through sheer focus.  
  
“Wren?”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere. My daughter needs me and I haven’t been there for twelve years. She needs me.”  
  
Guilt swamped her. Her boys had needed her too and she hadn’t been there for them either. True, she had no kinship with Wren, but having missed her children’s upbringing gave them something in common, didn’t it? She wasn’t sure sitting outside the door for an hour was the answer but leaving felt like admitting defeat.  
  
“You see what I mean? I can’t give up on her, not when she’s already given up on me.”  
  
Or Lena wouldn’t let them in because she knew Webby would be on her best behavior and not let them see her upset. She plopped onto the floor and sat Indian style. Wren sat opposite her.  
  
“I’ll wait until she opens the door,” Wren promised. “No matter how long it takes.”  
  
Della admired her perspicacity. It might be misplaced, but it was admirable, nonetheless. Perhaps it wouldn’t be an hour. Perhaps it’d be less time. In the meanwhile, they could always talk and get to know each other. They could construct a battle plan to deal with their recalcitrant children.  
  
“Kids are more stubborn than I gave them credit for,” Wren said, shaking her head ruefully.  
  
“Oh, I don’t know. I always thought my boys would be stubborn. It’s a Duck family trait, along with a bad temper.”  
  
“I’m worried about her, you know? I barely know her, I feel like I should know her so much better, and I come at a crisis moment. I come when she’s pushing everyone away. I can’t even prove I’m meant to be in her life because I established I’m a crap mother.”  
  
“You can’t give up that easily,” she chided. “You can’t let them think we don’t want them.”  
  
“Don’t they already think that?” Wren offered her a despairing smile. “We abandoned them, Della.”  
  
The reminder stung. Della glanced at the door rather than look back at her companion. It didn’t matter if they’d meant to do so or not. If they’d done it for their own good, such as Wren thought she’d been doing with Webby, or because she hadn’t intended for a test run to become a crash that stranded her for years. They’d still abandoned them.  
  
“This is ridiculous. I feel like Anna knocking at Elsa’s door. Maybe we should ask them if they want to build a snowman.”  
  
“Lena seems like the type to casually set fire to it.”  
  
“That she does. Still...Webby loves her desperately. That has to count for something.”  
  
And the boys loved Webby. Della shifted her position and stared at the doorknob as if it might turn by willpower alone. Lena had locked it behind her when she’d retreated. It’d been more of a tactical retreat than surrender, though. If Webby was an enigma, then Lena had to be a complete mystery.  
  
“So we sit. And wait.”  
  
There was nothing else for it. Sitting and waiting. Della stared at the door again and couldn’t help but remember the old idiom. “A watched pot never boils.” A watched door never opens.  
  


* * *

  
  
“We should let them in,” Webby said in a numb voice. She’d abandoned researching the Stone and was staring blankly ahead of her. Lena sighed, sitting next to her on the floor. They’d returned to her room with Lena trailing behind her right after their conversation with Della and the boys. Poe flew in through the open window.  
  
“No, we shouldn’t.”  
  
“They want to help,” she argued, but her heart wasn’t in it. Instead, her gaze fell back upon the Stone’s illustration and Lena wanted to fling the book out the window. It wasn’t a rational response and she knew she’d invoke Webby’s ire, but Webby was clinging to the idea of the Stone so fiercely that Lena feared she’d end up disappointed. It was like the Stone had become a panacea.  
  
“Where were they before, then? Oh, that’s right. They weren’t here.”  
  
“Della was stranded.” Webby absently turned a page and scanned the text. “It wasn’t her fault.”  
  
“I’m not saying it was--” Even if she did think so--”Wren didn’t have to walk out on you like that.”  
  
“She was afraid of my dad.”  
  
Though Webby seemed determined to give her a hard time about this, there was no heat in her words, no conviction. It was like Webby was going through the motions, knowing she ought to defend Wren as par for the course, but she couldn’t muster the necessary enthusiasm for the task at hand. It bugged Lena. She hated these deviations from the norm, because they only illustrated how far Webby had fallen from her usual self. Webby should’ve been all over Della Duck. She should’ve been fangirling from here to Mouseton. Instead, she had locked herself in her room and pored over a book as if it had all the answers.  
  
“So?” Lena countered. “She had all of SHUSH behind her if she wanted them to be.”  
  
“She had her reasons.”  
  
“Stop defending her!” Was Webby setting out to be this vexatious?  
  
“I’m not defending her. I’m just saying.”  
  
“You’re just defending her. Look, I’m no expert on dealing with stellar parents--look at who I had practically raise me--but I’m telling you, there are some things you can’t excuse or argue away. She wasn’t there for you growing up and she wasn’t there when you needed her to be after Mrs. B died.”  
  
“I know that!” Webby snapped, slamming the book down and startling them both. “I know she wasn’t there. I know she could’ve stopped me from--from that--and she wasn’t there. But you weren’t either.”  
  
Lena felt like someone had stabbed her in the heart. Tears filled her eyes and she wiped them away before they fell or Webby noticed.  
  
“I didn’t know you growing up. And I left because--”  
  
“Because you thought I was better off without you. Well, I wasn’t.”  
  
“What do you want me to say?” She felt like she was grasping at straws here. “Or do?”  
  
“Nothing. Never mind.”  
  
And like that, Webby’s switch snapped back to ‘off’ and she sunk back into herself. Lena wanted to shake her. You couldn’t start an argument and then leave it like that. What the hell. That wasn’t fair. Why was she doing this?  
  
“Goddamn it, Webby,” she snapped. “Do you want me around or not?”  
  
Webby’s gaze flicked to her and then back to the book. Infuriated, Lena kicked the book away and it hit the wall, bounced down the stairs, and reached the lower portion of her room. She wondered whether she’d been better off living beneath the theatre instead of in the manor. Webby wasn’t seriously blaming her for what had happened, was she?  
  
“Why are you picking a fight with me?” she snapped. “It’s not my fault any of this happened.”  
  
“It’s not my mother’s fault either,” Webby snapped with sudden heat and color rushed to her cheeks. “I’m saying that you could’ve been there and weren’t--”  
  
“I didn’t tell you to run out of the manor and then straight into trouble, either. In case you forgot, I was there when you dashed right past me.”  
  
She was hurt, perhaps more so than she ought to be, by the implied accusation. She’d thought that Webby considered her more highly than that. Tears stung her eyes again. Webby was her best friend and, technically, still her only friend. She wasn’t that close to the boys, not yet, and this was their place, not hers.  
  
Lena surged to her feet. She didn’t know where she was going, but she suddenly felt claustrophobic.  
  
“What the hell. I’m on your side. Why are you attacking me?”  
  
Webby looked up and her eyes, too, shone with tears. She was panting, chest heaving with emotion. The last time Lena had seen her that distraught, it’d been after a nightmare or a PTSD episode. Was that what this was? A PTSD reaction?  
  
“I’m not your enemy.”  
  
Lena worked on calming herself down before she said something she’d regret. Growing up, she’d had no one. Magica didn’t count. Webby was the first person who’d cared for her and hearing this from her now was excruciating. It almost felt like her heart was breaking.  
  
Or maybe it was less complicated than PTSD. Maybe she just missed her grandmother and was lashing out at Lena for being indirectly responsible for her death.  
  
“I can take a hint,” she snapped. “I’ll be at the theatre if you want me.”  
  
“Uncle Scrooge doesn’t want you going back there,” Webby said and it was the first thing she’d uttered in five minutes. “In case someone else shows up.”  
  
“What do you want from me?” Lena hissed. “I leave and you do stupid shit. I stay and you tell me that everything’s my fault. I  _know_  everything’s my fault. I know I’m a cancer on your family. You don’t have to remind me,  _Webbigail_.”  
  
“I don’t know what I want. I want it to stop hurting.”  
  
“Then how the hell does lashing out at me accomplish that? Or is it convenient?”  
  
She tasted tears on her beak.  
  
Something thumped outside and they startled, jumping. Their gazes met and then slid over to the door. Was it possible that Wren and Della had lingered the whole time? Had they heard the entire conversation? It wasn’t like she and Webby had taken pains to be quiet.  
  
“You guys are loud enough for the whole house to hear,” Huey said and Webby dropped her gaze.  
  
With misgivings, Lena unlocked and opened the door to discover the triplets, Wren, and Della standing outside. She could see Scrooge heading down the hall too. That sounded like a good time to plot her escape. She scurried out and the senior duck snagged her shirt with his cane.  
  
“Not so fast, lass,” he chastised. “We need to have a talk.”  
  
His expression darkened. “All of us.”  
  
As Webby’s room wasn’t large enough to accommodate all of them, they ended up retiring to the sitting room. The large screen TV was up against the wall, but Lena had never less felt like watching TV in her life. Louie’s gaze flicked to it, albeit briefly, before settling on Webby again. However much he’d heard, however, didn’t mean he was glaring at Lena, for what it was worth. Perhaps he didn’t blame her for what had transpired. That’d be a new one.  
  
Lena was surly as she took her seat. She folded her arms across her chest and crossed her legs. She wasn’t in the mood for discipline or whatever Scrooge had in mind.  
  
An errant thought, not hers but Magica’s, drifted through her mind. Magica saying, “Scroogie.” Sometimes, when Lena least suspected or wanted it, Magica’s voice came to the forefront of her thoughts. Usually it was when Lena was already stressed to the gills and couldn’t take much more. It was fitting, then.  
  
“Lassie,” Scrooge said once everyone was settled and his gaze landed on Webby, “I know you miss your granny. We all do. But you cannae keep picking fights with people and pushing them away.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Mr. McDuck,” Webby muttered, staring at the floor. Tears sparkled on her cheeks and if Lena weren’t exasperated with her, she might’ve wanted to wipe them away.  
  
“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” he replied. “We’re all trying to do the best we can with a bad situation. You dinnae need to be making matters worse. Are you really upset with Lena?”  
  
Webby gazed up, defiant for a second, before her eyes slid downward again. “No.”  
  
“Could’ve fooled me,” Lena snapped, unable to help herself.  
  
“You cannae lash out at people, either. You need to talk about what’s bothering you instead of bottling it up. That’s what the therapist is for.”  
  
Webby folded her arms across her chest. She almost looked to be sulking, except Lena knew Webby never sulked.  
  
“I’m sorry, Lena,” Webby said after a few minutes. She glanced up at her. “I don’t blame you for what happened. I blame myself.”  
  
“It wasn’t your fault either,” Scrooge reminded her.  
  
Webby wasn’t finished, however. “But it’s not fair for you to blame my mom for not being there, either. She’s trying to be there now.”  
  
Wren looked uneasy at that. She’d selected a seat near Della, maybe for solidarity. The boys were arranged around Webby and Lena and the adults were on the other side of the room. Lena couldn’t help but feel that it was the children versus the adults. Well, pre-teens and teens. Lena didn’t consider herself a child. That was insulting.  
  
“She’s trying to protect you,” Wren said quietly. “That’s why she was so upset with me. She doesn’t want you getting hurt again. From the sounds of things, that’s all she’s been doing. Trying to protect you.”  
  
Webby nodded, drawing in a deep, bracing breath. Her hands clenched and unclenched. “I can defend myself.”  
  
“You can, normally,” Huey agreed. “But these haven’t been normal circumstances.”  
  
“We’re not saying it’s your fault,” Dewey added. “We’re saying that things’ve been bad lately.”  
  
“You’re normally insanely capable of protecting yourself and anyone else,” Louie joined in. “But you’ve been through a lot of crap and you can’t keep pretending you’re fine when you’re not.”  
  
Webby was silent for a minute. She fidgeted, looking at the floor and then the walls before her gaze settled on the blank TV screen.  
  
“Okay,” she said and drew another bracing breath. “I’m sorry. I know you guys want what’s best for me. And I shouldn’t have lashed out.”  
  
“You’re doing that because you’re suppressing your emotions, lass,” Scrooge said and to his consternation, Della snorted.  
  
“What?” he demanded.  
  
“You’re hardly the one to give advice on that, Uncle Scrooge,” she said and her beak quirked toward a smile.  
  
“I dinnae have problems expressing myself emotionally!” he huffed.  
  
“Sure, if it comes to snapping at someone or pretending you’re all right,” she countered. “But you’re not great at letting people in, at communication, at telling people when you care about them. Or telling them when you’ve built a secret rocketship behind their back and then proceeding not to talk to your nephew for ten years.”  
  
“Oy! When did I start being on trial here?” he demanded.  
  
She smirked. “I’m just saying.”  
  
He grumbled.  
  
“If you have a problem, you can come to me,” Wren said. “It’s why I came back. I thought you needed me.”  
  
“You cannae keep it bottled up,” Scrooge said, shooting his niece a dirty look. Della looked unrepentant.  
  
“Okay,” Webby said, though Lena wasn’t sure whether she actually agreed or she was saying that to get Scrooge off her back. If she had to pick one, she’d have said the latter.  
  
“Now,” Scrooge said and shot the others a warning look too, “we need to discuss how we’re going to find the Stone and bring it back here.”  
  
A squawk drew their attention upward and Lena saw Poe descend upon her armrest. Her heart clenched. In light of what had happened earlier, she’d really rather someone else broke the news to Webby.  
  
“We’re going to find it, aren’t we?” Webby asked and her expression was earnest.  
  
“Aye,” Scrooge agreed. “Assuming we’re looking in the right place and that Glomgold hasn’t somehow found it before me. I wonder what that malevolent mountebank is up to now…”  
  


* * *

  
  
As it turned out, Mrs. Beakley’s funeral was open, though the gathering afterward was not. The wake was being held in the manor and was invitation only. Glomgold doubted he’d be able to wrangle an invite to the manor as he had when Louie had planned the guest list of that surprise party. No, subterfuge would be required. However, with so many people going in and out, the security system was probably down. That would make his job easier.  
  
He could douse Della with chloroform and take her that way, which seemed a lot less fuss, but that required the element of surprise. And Della could, given the circumstances, probably kick his ass before it reached that point. No, he had to trigger a PTSD attack or distract her. Unless...the gathering itself would provide the catalyst. Surrounded by so many people, after having spent over ten years by herself, would put Della on edge. It might even induce a panic attack. That would leave her ripe for the taking.  
  
Glomgold would have to sit pretty until the funeral on Friday, that was all. Waiting was one of his strong suits. After all, he’d been waiting almost eighty years to take revenge on Scrooge McDuck. This time, it might actually come to fruition.  
  
He had the rest of the week to plan. And, oh, yeah, run Glomgold Industries. You didn’t stay the second richest duck in the world by hatching elaborate revenge plans and ignoring business. Still...he was looking forward to the weekend. Very much so.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lena and Scrooge have a moment and Webby finds out the truth about the Stone of Remembrance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost wasn't going to update today. I still don't have anything for Darkly Dawns the Duo and next week looks hectic. We'll see how things go.

She shouldn’t be here. She’d broken her word to Webby, not to mention Scrooge. Being here brought up bad memories, too, memories of being shackled to her aunt. However, it was the only place she could go where she was certain Webby wouldn’t follow. Knowing that made her feel even more wretched. She felt like she could see the blood soaking into the floorboards. Lena ran a shaky hand through her pink streak. She was a shitty girlfriend.

Poe had accompanied her, though he was wisely not attempting communication. Lena flung herself on her bed and coughed in the cloud of dust that had arisen. She had another place, one underground, assuming that it hadn’t been pillaged yet. However, there she’d stand a greater chance of encountering someone unsavory. No, she was content to stay here, dust bunnies and all.

“Content” might not have been the word. It was closer to settling. She didn’t expect Webby to seek her out. She didn’t expect the boys to come either. And she’d felt suffocated in the manor, not that anyone would’ve understood that either. Webby was the only one she was truly attached to there and she’d bitten her head off earlier. She’d apologized, but even so, there was a limit to how much Lena could take.

She didn’t consider it running away. After all, running away implied she wouldn’t return. Fuck, she hoped Webby didn’t enlist Scrooge’s assistance in finding her again. Maybe Webby would leave well enough alone and stay away from her for the time being. It wasn’t like she was high on Webby’s list either.

Sighing, she picked up one of her old magazines and leafed through it. When she’d come down here in the past, it’d been to feel secure. It was one of the few places where, after a while, Aunt Magica didn’t follow. She could put on emo music and tune out her aunt’s diatribes. Now it seemed to hold only soured memories of captivity and the price she’d paid for it.

 _“Only I can give you what you truly desire. Your freedom.”_

Lies. Why would Lena have expected anything different? She didn’t know where Magica was right now and she didn’t care. Chances were she was with Gladstone, which was another person Lena was striking off her list. Anyone who consorted with Magica had to be rotten to the core. She wasn’t sure if that fit the boys’ mother, though.

She didn’t know what to make of Della Duck. While she probably should hold it against her that she’d abandoned her offspring, Poe hadn’t behaved much differently. Nor had Wren, Webby’s mother. Maybe parents were destined to disappoint and abandon you. Maybe Lena had been foolish to think otherwise.

Poe was hopping about now, attempting to get her attention, and she swatted at him. She didn’t want it. Instead, she reached under her bed for her charger cord, slipped it into her phone, and played Evanescence. Evanescence, along with My Chemical Romance, had driven Magica crazy. She hated what she deemed “whiny bands”.

For a few minutes, she let the music carry her away. However, after the song ended, she was no better off than when she’d started. It felt like a hole had opened in her chest and from there, Lena’s misery emanated in waves. She was cancer on the McDuck manor and all of its inhabitants. She could have stopped Webby before things had reached that point. Leaving when her grandmother’s death was on her head was part of what had led Webby astray.

The Bloodhound Gang was safely behind bars and the Beagle Boys had stopped frequenting the abandoned theatre, which meant she was likely to be left alone. She told herself she wanted to be alone. Maybe she wouldn’t come back to McDuck Manor for a while. She couldn’t stay away forever, but…

Shutting her eyes, she let the music lull her to sleep. Sleeping had been a good way to waste time when she’d been trapped down here before. No one was looking for her. No one had even noticed where she’d gone if they’d noticed her absence at all. And maybe it was better that way. Perhaps she could scrounge up food and live down here again. The thought didn’t inspire her, but, hey, better than being in the manor as Webby’s metaphorical punching bag.

She drifted into an uneasy sleep, punctuated with nightmares about Webby, Mrs. Beakley, and Magica. When she awoke, it was to discover a desk lamp on, which she had not touched, and a figure looming over her. Lena screamed, reaching for her amulet, and a cane knocked her hand aside. A cane?

“Mr. McDuck?” she asked.

“Aye, lassie,” he said and sat on her bed. “You’re developing a habit of running away.”

“I wasn’t running away,” Lena huffed, sitting upright and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “I needed a break. You didn’t need to come after me. I’m not a little kid.”

“I know being in the manor can be stifling sometimes,” he said and touched her shoulder. She stiffened, anticipating a blow that never came. His eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. After a brief moment in which he squeezed her shoulder, he released her and she breathed easier.

“I hadn’t noticed,” she said in a deadpan.

“I don’t want you wandering off on your own. You could get hurt.”

“I lived on the streets for years. I can handle myself.”

She winced, realizing how that had come out. Like she could handle herself and Webby couldn’t when Webby ought to be more capable. Thankfully, Scrooge let the remark slide.

“I dinnae want you to, lassie,” he said. “We care about you, you know.”

“Because of Webby,” she said dully.

“Because of who you are, not just because of Webby,” he replied, shaking his head. “You’re a part of the family now, whether you want to be or not.”

“Is that a threat?” she shot back, but her beak twisted toward a weak smile. She realized that, at some point, her music had stopped playing. It looked like the music app had crashed on her phone. Oh, well. She wasn’t in such an emo mood right now anyway.

“You’re going through things too,” he said. He glanced over at Poe the raven. “We’re gonna have to tell Webbigail about the Stone soon, you know.”

“I know,” she said mournfully. “But...it should be her decision.”

As agonizing as that would be, it ought to be Webby’s decision. She was the one who had coveted the stone. Poe would remain as a raven or transition back into his normal form by her graces. And Lena loved Webby enough to hope she’d make the right choice. Webby was a good person, her recent behavior notwithstanding. Lena’s gaze dropped. She loved her.

“Now, do you wanna come home with me? Or did you wanna stop for sea-salt ice cream?” he asked and she stared, puzzled, as a smile spread across his beak.

“Of course, you’re getting the child size,” he said. “It’s cheaper.”

Lena snorted. “Tightwad.”

She said it, but she said it with affection. Unplugging her phone, she stowed it in her pocket and left with Scrooge. She didn’t look back. There was nothing here for her anymore, just reminders of oppression and misery. And if she wanted that so badly, she could always head over to Gladstone Gander’s apartment and confront the bitch herself.

“So, er, you didn’t go down there just to brood, did you?” Scrooge asked as they reached the street. She found Launchpad waiting in a boat to row them back to the pier. Perhaps she ought to be amazed that the thirty-one-year-old manchild hadn’t capsized the boat in their absence. He’d have to have thought about it.

“I needed to be alone,” she said, which sounded like such a teenage thing to say, but it was true. “I mean, I can go back to the manor now, if you want…”

“Nah, you deserve a treat. We all do, after what’s happened.”

“You know, I never asked. Did you beat the shit out of the Bloodhound Gang yourself, old man?” she asked in a conversational tone. “Because if you did, that’s pretty badass for an old guy. No wonder Magica hates you so much.”

“There are other reasons too,” he said, but she could tell he was pleased with her compliment. “And...they deserved what they got.”

“I’m not saying that they didn’t. I’m only saying that it’s pretty badass to whoop a bunch of guys, even if they were in jail and probably handcuffed.”

“It was what Mrs. B would’ve wanted.”

The words sobered them both and, for a few blocks, they continued in silence. Launchpad was prattling on about a new Darkwing Duck special, but they ignored him. Even after they reached the limo, they disregarded him. It was safer that way, Lena had learned. Engaging Launchpad about his Darkwing Duck obsession was almost as bad as engaging Webby about her Scrooge McDuck fixation.

“Should I even go to the funeral?” The question had been nagging at the back of her mind for a while now. “I mean, technically, I killed her.”

“Webby is going to want you there...and so do I, lass. So do the boys. It wasn’t your fault what happened.”

“I was still the hand that struck her down…” she protested and turned to him. “How can you be so calm and understanding about this?”

“I dinnae see the point in belaboring things. And the question is really whether you want to be there. I cannae tell you what to do--as you’ve demonstrated.”

He was smiling when he said that.

“I should be there,” she said slowly. “But are you sure it isn’t going to make matters worse?”

“It will help. You’ll see.”

The sea-salt ice cream, child size and all, might help too. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d indulged in ice cream. She also couldn’t remember the last time she felt unencumbered by doubt, guilt, and worry. Maybe she could relax a little with Scrooge. It was weird and not what she’d had in mind originally, but, well, plans changed. And he was okay, for an old man, she supposed.

* * *

“We need to tell her,” Dewey said. “We can’t look for the Stone without letting her know.”

“What’s the point in telling her? She’ll get angry at us before we have a chance to retrieve it,” Louie argued.

“But it’s for Lena,” Huey argued. “That should count for something.”

“She’s so obsessed with the Stone,” Louie said. “It’s not a good idea to divert her attention away from what else it’s used for right now. She needs to talk to Mrs. B and she can’t do that if she’s distracted by Poe.”

They were gathered in their tower room with the book Webby had been perusing in front of them. Uncle Scrooge had gone to locate Lena and Webby--they weren’t sure where she’d gone. She wasn’t allowed to leave the manor without someone accompanying her, not that that had stopped her the last time. Louie might’ve said that she could handle herself, except the Bloodhound Gang had proved she couldn’t, not under certain circumstances.

“She needs to know what’s at stake,” Dewey pressed. “We don’t want to blindside her.”

“She’s already on edge. Do you want to make it worse? Make her choose between her girlfriend’s happiness and hers?” Louie shot back. “Let her get through this and then we’ll tell her.”

“And when do you propose to do that?” Huey interjected. “You can’t leave her hanging forever. We don’t know how long Poe can remain a raven before he’s stuck that way.”

“He’s been trapped for years. He can stay for a few more weeks,” Louie scoffed.

“You don’t know that. You don’t know how magic works,” Huey retorted.

“Neither do you,” Louie pointed out.

“That’s why I’m saying we shouldn’t take the risk,” Huey rejoined.

“You’re never about taking risks, not unless they’re related to your Junior Woodchuck Badges,” Louie huffed. “You’re not seeing the big picture here.”

“Are you even trying to protect Webby or are you doing this for some other reason? Something selfish, like wanting the Stone for yourself?” Huey countered.

“What would I need the Stone for?” Louie shot back. “We have Mom back. And it’s not like we know anything about Dad or care. I don’t have any use for the Stone.”

“If we want Webby to be able to choose, she has to know her options,” Huey said.

“We can’t keep leaving her in the dark,” Dewey added.

“And what? You’re gonna spring this on her now? After she just bitched out Lena?” Louie asked, shaking his head. “Guys. She attacked  _Lena_. Lena’s supposed to be her perfect little dove or whatever. She never picks a fight with her. Did it occur to you that maybe Webby’s a little unstable right now?”

“And when do you think she’s going to be stable?” Huey countered. “After she’s talked to Mrs. B?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Louie replied. “Leave it until after she’s had her talk with Mrs. Beakley. There’s no rush.”

“That we know of,” Huey said, scowling. “We don’t know enough, Louie.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for her to know that she might only have one shot at talking to her grandmother than thinking that she’s got eternity?” Dewey said.

“No, it wouldn’t,” Louie said, shaking his head. “You don’t get it.”

“No, you don’t,” Huey said. “We have to tell her.”

“No, we don’t,” Louie said heatedly. “Do you want to be the one to tell her that she’ll have one conversation with her grandmother for the rest of her life? That whatever she says to her will have to be it and that Lena gets Poe back and Webby gets shafted?”

“She has a right to know,” Dewey said.

“I’m not saying she doesn’t. I’m saying she doesn’t need to know right now,” Louie snapped. “This is for her own good.”

“Funny, because you’d think if it were, she’d be able to make the decision,” Huey said and Louie glowered at him.

“She will. Just not now.”

“If not now, when?” Huey shot back.

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something,” Louie said. “This is all pointless, anyway. We don’t know where she went.”

“There’s an easy way to find out,” Huey said and grabbed his phone. He dialed her number and the boys waited, listening to it ring. She picked up on the last ring.

“Hello?”

“Where are you? We have something we need to tell you,” Huey said and Louie growled.

“No, we don’t.”

“I’m safe. Don’t worry about me.”

Louie scowled. That wasn’t an answer. He knew when someone was avoiding the question. Why didn’t she want them to know where she was? It was a simple question unless the answer wasn’t simple. He wished he could reach through the phone and divine where she was.

“See, when you say that, that makes us worry more, not less,” Louie said.

“Don’t tell Uncle Scrooge.”

“Where are you?” Huey asked sharply.

Webby sighed, exasperated. “I’m in the Money Bin, okay? I went to see whether there were any more books about the Stone in here.”

“There’s something you need to know about that--” Dewey started and received a swift elbow to the ribs. “I’m serious!”

“What are you guys hiding from me?”

“It’s not that big a deal, really,” Louie said. “It’s a mere technicality. It won’t affect anything.”

“You’re making me more suspicious, not less.”

“I’m telling you, don’t worry about it,” Louie said. “Would I lie to you?”

 

“Yes, yes he would,” Huey said and likewise received a swift elbow in the ribs. He shoved Louie away and Louie huffed, acting like he was the injured party. He was, really. He’d done nothing wrong and his brothers were attacking him.

“Guys,” Webby snapped. “What are you talking about?”

“The Stone of Remembrance has two functions,” Huey started, but he didn’t get the chance to finish before Louie curb-stomped on his foot. Huey responded by kicking him back.

“Let him tell me what’s going on,” Webby said, her voice terse. “How do you know more about the Stone than I do?”

“We were talking to Poe,” Dewey said, snagging the phone away from Huey seeing as his other brothers were now fighting. Or, well, arguing again. Louie didn’t like physical altercations. He tended to avoid them whenever possible.

“And Poe told us.”

“And you believe him?” Webby asked. “He’s Magica’s brother.”

“And Lena’s dad,” Huey pointed out.

“Not that Lena’s a great source of the truth either, after what she pulled on us,” Louie commented.

Webby was silent for a moment and Huey and Louie ceased bickering to stare at each other and then the phone in Dewey’s hand. Louie took that silence as ominous. Normally, it was hard to get Webby to shut up. Or, at least, it had been before the Shadow Wars.

“What’s the other function?” she demanded and Louie winced at the edge in her voice.

“You might as well tell her,” Louie said, resigned. “She’s not gonna leave it alone.”

“It restores someone to their proper form. Someone like Poe,” Dewey said.

There was silence on the other end, for so long that the boys checked to see whether the line was still connected. It was. Webby wasn’t speaking. She seemed to be mulling it over.

“It can’t do both at the same time, can it?”

“If you use it to restore someone, it disappears,” Huey said.

“I see.”

This time, when the silence lasted, they double-checked the connection and discovered she’d hung up on them. The trio exchanged glances.

“And this is why I didn’t want to tell her!” Louie exploded. “You don’t know how she’s going to react!”

“She has a right to know,” Huey insisted. “She has a right to an informed decision.”

“We should go find her,” Dewey said. “I don’t like the idea of her wandering around with that knowledge.”

“If she’s even in the Money Bin anymore…” Louie said.

* * *

Webby stowed the phone. If she let Lena restore Poe, she’d lose her grandmother again. Sequestering herself in a small narrow aisle, she rocked back and forth. She couldn’t lose Granny again. But she couldn’t deny Lena happiness, either. Lena had had such a terrible childhood that it’d be cruel to deny her Poe. But she already had him, albeit not in his proper form. Webby didn’t have Granny, not anymore.

She wouldn’t be losing him if she didn’t use the Stone. Webby wouldn’t be able to speak with her grandmother again without it. She loved Lena so much that she felt guilty for being selfish, even for a little while. Hugging her knees, she stared around her.

She needed to tell her grandmother what had happened. She needed her grandmother’s benediction, or, at least, to know that she wouldn’t have condemned her. She couldn’t have that if Lena used the Stone before Webby did. But surely Lena wouldn’t want to deprive Webby of one last conversation with Mrs. Beakley? After all, Lena loved her.

No wonder the boys hadn’t wanted her to know. How did they think they could keep this from her? Her phone was vibrating again and she knew it was one of the triplets. She let it go to voicemail.

She couldn’t lose her grandmother again. But she couldn’t let Lena lose Poe, either. Clenching her eyes shut, she swallowed back tears. She didn’t know what to do.

She could have one last conversation with Granny and give the Stone to Lena. Then they would both get what they wanted, except Webby would only have that one moment. And Lena...well, it wasn’t Lena’s fault that Mrs. Beakley was dead. Webby didn’t blame her for that.

She noted that her phone was again ringing and ignored it, scrolling through her small contact list until she happened upon Lena.

She hit dial and listened to it ring five times. Lena didn’t answer. It went straight to voicemail. Come to think of it, Lena probably wasn’t too thrilled with her right now. Webby didn’t blame her. She wished she could speak to Mrs. Beakley right now and sort these things out. She felt alone. Scrooge had gone off, Lena wasn’t answering her, the triplets were a nuisance, and she had no one else. Well, wait, that wasn’t quite true.

She had her mother. She glanced at her phone again and then shook her head. She didn’t know Wren well enough to confide in her. No, she’d handle this on her own. She refused to move for the longest time. The Money Bin was mostly silent around her, as almost everyone had gone home for the day.

Her phone vibrated again, after an interminable amount of time, and she glanced at the screen. Uncle Scrooge. It probably behooved her not to disregard him. Technically, she was his ward now.

“Hi,” she said quietly.

“Webbigail, where the blazes are you?” he demanded. “You shouldnae be running off on your own like that!”

“I told the boys. I’m in the Money Bin’s library,” Webby said, feeling an odd combination of cross and numb. “I didn’t go anywhere else.”

He sighed. He couldn’t gainsay her--the Money Bin was supposed to be secure. More secure than that theatre had been, at any rate. And technically, she hadn’t strayed that far. She was still within the wall of protection.

“They told me about the Stone,” she continued in a dull voice. “I get it. I get why you were all walking on eggshells.”

“I found Lena. Come home,” he said.

“Lena doesn’t want to speak to me.”

There was a moment of silence and then, incredibly, Lena’s voice. “Hey, pink.”

“I thought you were mad at me. You didn’t answer your phone.”

“I needed to decompress with ice cream. I’m sorry too. I guess the boys told you everything.”

“Yeah.”

There didn’t seem to be anything else to say to that. Scrooge sighed.

“I’ll come home,” Webby promised. She didn’t know when, however. She was disinclined to move. For all she knew, her legs had locked in that position from sitting so long. They had lost feeling and when she pushed herself upright, she crashed over.

“Webby!” Lena called.

“Sorry, something stupid,” Webby muttered, hanging up. She pushed herself to her feet again and used the bookshelf for balance. Miss Quackfaster was watching her from down the aisle and Webby offered her a weak grin. It must’ve been very feeble, as the older duck wasn’t falling for it. Either that or she’d interrupted the sanctity of the library.

Thankfully, the woman said nothing to her and Webby limped until she got feeling back in her legs. She felt like she’d sacrificed so much already, but she couldn’t deny Lena. It wasn’t in her nature. And it hurt because she knew she was denying herself something she very much wanted. She was too good a person.

She wished she didn’t have to go home, but the only other places she knew were fraught with danger. If she went back to the theatre, she’d have flashbacks. If she tried to find Lena’s former hideout, she’d have to go underground where the villains kept their lairs. And the only alternative was Gladstone’s apartment when she barely knew him and Magica was staying there. That wasn’t appealing.

She was too sheltered to know where to go when the manor wasn’t much of an option.

Head down, she trudged along the underground passage back to McDuck Manor. As she walked, she traced her fingertips along the wall and kept her head down. Alone, with no one to witness it, she gave into tears.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glomgold fails at life; Webby and the boys plan to sneak out and find the Stone without adult supervision.

It was overcast and gloomy; clouds had gathered, seemingly directly over McDuck manor. SHUSH agents, both past and present, along with Wren, the triplets, Webby, Lena, and Scrooge McDuck had assembled. Flintheart Glomgold stood back, careful to stay out of sight. He noticed that he wasn’t the only one; Magica de Spell was present with Gladstone Gander. Magica’s eyes gleamed as she beheld the casket and he smelled her smugness. It would’ve been disturbing if he’d cared.

 

Della Duck was absent, though her twin brother Donald was present. Glomgold suspected she was within the manor; he’d have to lure her out or else sneak his way in.

 

A chill wind rustled the leaves and sent the remaining ones falling. It was cold, almost cold enough for snow, and his footsteps crackled underfoot. He heard a cane and whirled, spying Scrooge standing before him. The older duck raised his eyebrows at him.

 

“Did ye really think I wouldn’t notice you were here, Flinty?” he asked, shaking his head. “Though I dinnae know why.”

 

“Do I need a reason to be here?” he shot back.

 

Scrooge’s eyes narrowed. “I cannae understand why you’re here, though I’m more interested in why Magica is here.”

 

He gave Glomgold a warning look and then went after Magica. From where he was, Glomgold couldn’t hear what was said, but it sounded heated. Then again, Magica had been responsible for Mrs. Beakley’s death, if Glomgold remembered correctly. She’d had a lot of gall to show up here.

 

However, with Scrooge distracted, this might be a good opportunity to sneak into the manor. The priest was saying a few words, Launchpad was weeping, and Webby remained oddly dry-eyed. The boys and Lena were arrayed on either side of her with Wren behind her. None of them noticed him slip by them. At least, that was what he thought until the priest paused.

 

“Flintheart Glomgold?” Huey asked. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I came, er, to pay my respects,” he said. “Yes, that’s it. That’s a totally non-suspicious answer to your question.”

 

The others turned to look at him and he grimaced.

 

“Right,” Huey said coldly. “Why are you really here?”

 

“Do I really have to have a reason to be here?”

 

“Yes, you do,” Louie said, narrowing his gaze. “For all we know, you’re here to plot to kill our uncle. Again. For the umpteenth time.”

 

“It’s not him I’m here for today,” he said and perhaps the words might’ve been a deterrent if they hadn’t been said with a malevolent air. Even the priest was giving him a look now. He cast a glance at the gates and then at the manor’s front door.

 

“You’re not here for Mrs. Beakley,” Louie said. “I know a gambit when I see one.”

 

Glomgold’s eyes narrowed. He really did not like this green-attired grand-nephew of Scrooge’s. And if they were going to persist in questioning him, he wasn’t going to be able to reach the manor in a timely fashion. Scrooge had only let him go because Magica’s presence seemed more pressing. It had nothing to do with lack of suspicion.

 

He threw down a smoke bomb to obfuscate the issue and then darted for the house as quickly as he could. Of course, with short, stubby legs, he wasn’t making progress as quickly as he’d like. He stumbled up the steps, flung the door open, staggered into the house, and shut the door behind him. It was heavy oak, which proved reassuring as it immediately moved inward from a strike. Time was of the essence; they’d figure out a way past a barricade and he didn’t really have time to create an effective one.

 

Not having had much experience wandering through the house, he didn’t know where to try first to locate Della. As he walked, he was aware of something stalking him. Chills went down his spine and a vase flew at his head. He ducked and a foot collided with his chin. It knocked him over onto his back and before he had a chance to move, he found himself pinned. Damn, he should’ve done more than lock the front door.

 

“How dare you,” Webby said and her eyes were red. “I don’t know why you’re here and I don’t care.”

 

He didn’t have any weapons he could turn on the wee one and besides, her body was a weapon. That left him singularly unarmed. He wasn’t going to be able to outrun her; even though she was a child, she was almost his height. Besides, Webby was pressing on his chest with excessive force.

 

“What’s going on?” Della demanded. She was pale and her feathers twitched as she trembled.

 

“Ah, just the person I wanted to see,” Glomgold said. Webby faltered.

 

“Wait, what?” the girl said.

 

He didn’t have a weapon, but he did have a switch on his belt that would produce a net to fly out at her and ensnare her. It caught Webby, threw her back into Della, and the young girl set to work trying to slice the titanium ropes. She wouldn’t be able to. He smirked.

 

“You rescued me to kidnap me?” Della snapped, outraged.

 

“You showed up at my grandmother’s funeral to kidnap Della Duck?” Webby asked, likewise outraged.

 

“How else was I going to get Scrooge’s attention?” he huffed.

 

“You are an idiot,” Della said flatly. “Is my uncle’s attention worth so much to you that you’d ruin a funeral?”

 

“If I kidnap you and the wee one, Scroogie will have to pay to get you back,” he reasoned.

 

“My uncle never pays ransoms,” Della scoffed. “Did you really think he got to be a billionaire by paying people off?”

 

“For you, he’d make an exception,” Glomgold scoffed. “You were missing for ten years and then, to disappear again?”

 

He grabbed the net and then groaned. “Oy, you’re heavier than I thought you’d be.”

 

“Sounds like someone didn’t think this through,” Webby said and he growled.

 

“Shut it!” he snapped back.

 

The front door slammed open, the pathetic attempts to barricade it faltering before Scrooge McDuck, his nephews, Donald Duck, and Lena de Spell. Scrooge’s eyes narrowed as he beheld the scene.

 

“Eh, heh, hello, Scroogie,” Glomgold said. “Come to welcome me?”

 

“Come to tell you to get the hell out of my house before I call the cops,” Scrooge retorted. “And did you really think you were going to kidnap my niece and ward? Really, Glomgold?”

 

Glomgold huffed. The jig was up, but he refused to go down without a fight. He assessed the situation and took a step closer to Webby and Della. Reaching into his pocket, he considered withdrawing a switchblade. He wasn’t cruel enough to threaten them, but maybe they wouldn’t call his bluff.

 

He found his arm immobilized. Lena stepped closer, her eyes glowing and fury writ large on her face. She raised her arms and flung him into the fireplace. The net undid itself and the two female ducks scrambled out. Glomgold wanted to protest, but Lena had him completely frozen.

 

“Leave my girlfriend alone,” Lena snapped.

 

“I was just…” Glomgold protested and then found his beak melded shut. Squawking in indignation, he was stuck with muffled protests as Scrooge advanced on him. Lena was right behind him. Neither looked particularly pleased to see him. He wanted to scramble backward, but he couldn’t move. This had gone all wrong. He should’ve had someone, like the Beagle Boys, help him lift Webby and Della. Then again, they were a handful anyway...how had Magica kidnapped Webby in the first place?

 

“You’ve bitten off more than you can chew, Flinty,” Scrooge said and he glowered at him. Glomgold got the impression that the next few minutes or hours were not about to be very pleasant for him. He cast his gaze about to see if he had any support, but everyone was glaring at him. Eh. He hadn’t come here to make friends or influence people.

 

Scrooge’s rage was almost palpable. He grabbed Glomgold by the scruff of the neck and hauled him off. The last glimpse he had of Della and Webby was of them escaping the net before he was dragged to the security sector of McDuck Manor.

* * *

 

Webby was shaken, though she supposed she shouldn’t have been. Seeing her grandmother’s killer, along with Glomgold, had rattled her. She was already off-kilter from the funeral and though she managed to pretend everything was okay and even proceed with the services, she was shaking. Louie and Lena put their arms about her and she swallowed past a lump in her throat. She wanted to be brave. She wanted to be selfless, but she couldn’t. It felt like she was crumbling, falling apart at the seams.

 

The service carried on without her paying the slightest bit of attention to it. When it came time to retire to the house, she bolted for her room and locked the door. She knew she shouldn’t, knew that Lena and the boys would want to talk to her, but there was only so much she could take. Her chest was tight, sobs threatened to erupt, and she needed to be alone.

 

“Webby!” Lena and the boys called and then, to Webby’s dismay, she saw the lock move on its own. Lena must be using magic to unlock it. Perturbed, Webby considered piling things in front of the door, but she ran out of time. The door swung open and Webby’s beak quivered. She’d thrown herself on her bed and was hugging her grandmother’s phone to her.

 

Wren wasn’t far behind the others and she reached out to her daughter. But Webby didn’t want her. Wren was still a stranger. What Webby wanted was to be left alone to grieve, although...the others cared about her too. They’d also known and mourned Mrs. Beakley. Webby buried her face in her pillow and felt the boys and Lena join her on the bed and hug her. Wren stood outside, probably feeling awkward.

 

She couldn’t conceal her misery any longer. Weeping, she clung to the hands and arms about her. She needed that Stone. She needed to talk to her one more time. This couldn’t be the end. Magica couldn’t have won. She refused to believe it.

 

Something stirred the curtains about her window and, despite her misery, Webby lifted her tear-streaked face to look up. As she had when she’d first noticed Duckworth, she sensed a presence. Her heart beat double-time and she looked about, searching it out. A silhouette shimmered at the edge of her bed.

 

“Granny?” she whispered.

 

“I’m trying,” Lena said. “I don’t know why she’s so weak. She’s barely there on the astral plane.”

 

“Webby…” Mrs. Beakley said and though it was faint, she heard her. For a few seconds, a clear image of her grandmother emerged and she could feel Lena’s amulet heating up between them. Lena was gripping it tightly and Webby shifted position so she was sitting up and beholding her grandmother. If Duckworth could come back, why couldn’t her grandmother?

 

“Granny, I...I have to talk to you…” Webby said and gasped back a sob. “I miss you so much…”

 

“I can’t hold the spell much longer, Webby,” Lena warned. It’d only been a minute, but the strain was evident on her girlfriend’s face. Her fingers were tight about the amulet and she panted, chest rising and falling sharply. Webby should have been more concerned, but she had eyes only for her grandmother.

 

“I know...what happened…” Granny said and Webby shook her head. Tears flew in every direction and Dewey rubbed her back.

 

“The Bloodhound Gang?” Webby asked.

 

“What happened, Webby, it’s not--”

 

The connection broke and her grandmother’s image faded as if it had never been. Webby cried, anguished, and turned her tear-streaked face to her girlfriend. She could see the toll it was taking on Lena; Lena was swaying, on the brink of collapse. Lena’s magic was either not as strong as her aunt’s or she wasn’t as trained in using it. They could hardly ask Magica for assistance, especially considering she’d been the one who’d killed Mrs. Beakley.

 

“It’s not what?” Webby whispered. “Granny, come back!”

 

“I can’t, I can’t bring her back, I’m not strong enough…” Lena whispered and then fell face first onto the bed. She was shaking too and beneath her white feathers, Webby could see that she was pale. Her breathing was shallow, alarmingly so, and Webby wondered whether she’d pushed Lena too far. She’d never asked Lena to contact the spirit world before.

 

“Lena!” the boys exclaimed, with varying degrees of concern. Webby knew she ought to feel bad, but all she felt was bereft. For a few seconds, a few precious seconds, she’d had her grandmother within her grasp and now she was gone again. And what did Mrs. Beakley know? Had she known about the Bloodhound Gang? Or was this in reference to something else?

 

She’d done magic before with Lena. Slipping the amulet off Lena’s neck, she closed her fingers around it and tried to reach out to her grandmother.

 

“Stop that! You don’t know what you’re doing!” Huey scolded. “You could hurt yourself!”

 

“Or do nothing at all…” Louie said and his gaze was on Lena. “She must’ve overexerted herself.”

 

“Granny, come back!” she pleaded. “I’ll do anything!”

 

Barriers about the house crackled and she knew she might have invited Magica into the house by what she’d said, but she didn’t care. She was desperate. The Stone wasn’t here, Lena was unconscious, and she needed her grandmother so badly it was like a physical ache. She could hardly breathe. She was crying so hard that her sobs bowled her over and still she clutched the amulet.

 

“Granny, please, please!” she pleaded, tasting the tears in her mouth.

 

“You shouldn’t play with forces beyond your control, Webby,” Wren said and she looked pale too. She snagged the amulet out of Webby’s hands and Webby turned an angry gaze upon her. Who was she to say that? Who was she to demand she cease?

 

“I know you want to talk to her. I want to talk to her too. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry you’ve lost her. I know it’s not fair that I had her for so much longer and didn’t appreciate it,” Wren said in a rush. “But these are things you don’t understand.”

 

“I don’t care!” she burst out. “I just want her back...I want her back…”

 

Grief-stricken, she clung to the others. It wasn’t enough. But...Launchpad was here. And the Sunchaser was here. Pushing herself up and away from the others, she dashed to the door.

 

“What are you doing?” Huey asked.

 

“I’m going to find that Stone,” she said and swiped at her face. “One way or another. And you can either come or you can stay here, I don’t care, but I’m going.”

 

“We’ll leave Uncle Scrooge a note,” Louie said, spying his brother’s uncertain look. Huey nodded and then glanced at Lena.

 

“We’ll be back,” Webby promised Lena. Her heart was pounding in her chest. They needed to do this. She needed to do this. She trembled and she rocked back and forth, hugging herself. Scrooge was preoccupied with Glomgold and Magica de Spell. They would never get another opportunity like this. It was time to go, regardless of how well supplied they were. Regardless of how ready (or not), they were.

 

She swallowed the tears that had landed in her beak.

 

“Let’s go,” she whispered and it had the feeling of something irrevocable. A door swung shut and another was gaping open in her mind. They set out to find Launchpad.


	10. Chapter 10

As far as impulsive acts went, this probably ranked up there with the time Huey and Dewey had stolen the submarine and Launchpad to visit cousin Fethry. Webby didn’t know what they’d said to convince the pilot/driver to proceed and she was too agitated to come up with a lie, even if she’d been adroit at it. Fortunately, Louie came to the rescue. If anyone was good at fabrications, it was he and Webby had no idea what he’d said, but it was enough to send them on their merry way.

The notion that they were headed off into the unknown without proper supplies or adults was not lost on her. However, she couldn’t have tolerated a longer waiting period. Seeing Mrs. Beakley for a few seconds had not been enough. She wished Wren hadn’t taken back Lena’s amulet; perhaps there would’ve been something in the books about how to summon her grandmother’s spirit. She knew she shouldn’t be toying with forces beyond her comprehension. While she knew that, she couldn’t stop herself.

“Webs, calm down,” Louie said, rubbing her back. They’d left Lena at home, as well as Scrooge, Della, and Wren. Louie’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he scowled at it. When he didn’t answer, the Sunchaser’s radio crackled to life.

“What in blazes do you think you’re doing?” Scrooge demanded. “Bring this plane back immediately! I said we were going after the funeral--who told you to requisition the Sunchaser?”

“Louie said we needed to go on a family expedition,” Launchpad said. “He told me he cleared it with you--it was going to be a surprise--”

Scrooge squawked. “He did not! Come back to Duckburg this instant!”

Louie darted forward and unplugged the comm. He smiled innocently at Launchpad.

“Wrong number.”

“He sounded pretty concerned,” Launchpad said. “Maybe we should turn back.”

“Relax, it’s all part of the system,” Louie said. He ignored his phone vibrating in his hoodie pocket. When that stopped, Webby’s phone vibrated and she grimaced. She couldn’t ignore it, could she? Louie would tell her to ignore Scrooge and go ahead with this anyway. She wanted to. Would having Uncle Scrooge there make a big difference?

“He’s pretending to be upset so that the surprise is bigger later,” Louie added.

“I’m not sure about that…” Launchpad said, frowning.

“I know my uncle,” he said. “And I know how he operates. Calm down, LP.”

“Should I call him back?” Launchpad’s anxiety seemed to be mounting and, unable to help herself, feeling horribly guilty for having stolen the Sunchaser, Webby answered her phone. As she did, Louie groaned, facepalming.

“Webby--” he started.

“Webbigail Vanderquack!” Scrooge snapped. “I dinnae care whose idea it was, but you’re coming back this instant!”

“I need to find the Stone. I need to talk to Granny,” she insisted.

“It’s too dangerous for you to go without adult supervision!” he objected. “Come home. Now.”

“I already plotted out--” she started and he interjected.

“You dinnae have the experience to go willy-nilly about the world searching for artifacts.”

“If we have the plane, how do you propose to bring us back?” Webby asked and wondered at her cheek. Her heart raced and she winced, knowing her grandmother would’ve chastised her for that. For one thing, Scrooge McDuck had been her grandmother’s employer. For another, he was now her guardian.

“Do you really think that the Sunchaser is my only aeroplane?” he countered. “Or that I cannae find another pilot on short notice?”

“Hang up already!” Louie pleaded, grabbing the phone from her. Her stomach flip-flopped as he ended the call and, stepping up to the cockpit, threw the phone out the window. She imagined she could hear the sound it made as it crashed through the clouds and then plummeted to Earth. Seeing the Terra-firmians was one thing. This was something else entirely. This was a strident act of disobedience.

“Was that Mr. McDee?” Launchpad asked. “You weren’t arguing with him, were you?”

“No, not at all,” Louie said, shooting Webby a dirty look. “They were discussing things. There’s nothing to worry about it. Take it easy. It’s smooth sailing from here on in.”

“I thought we were flying…” Launchpad said, baffled.

“Sailing, flying, you’re the one in control. We’re just sitting back and enjoying ourselves. Why don’t we watch some Darkwing Duck? You love Darkwing.”

“I do love Darkwing…” Launchpad mused. “All right. If you’re sure.”

“Yes!” Louie exclaimed. “I’m very sure!”

As soon as Launchpad went back to his instrument panel, Louie growled at Webby and pulled her aside. “You knew Uncle Scrooge was going to try to call us back.”

“I know, but I felt guilty.”

“There’s no room to feel guilty when you’re already in trouble!” he hissed. “Worry about the consequences later.”

“If we don’t have any supplies, shouldn’t we worry about the consequences now?” Webby asked, casting a glance at their empty storage. Her heart pitter-pattered.

“So we pick some up. No big deal.”

“I don’t know…” she said. “Uncle Scrooge said the Sunchaser isn’t his only plane. And doesn’t this plane have GPS?”

Louie rushed forward and glared at the instrument panel. He searched the dials frantically, looking for the GPS. He didn’t seem to know what it looked like, however, because his eyes widened in panic.

“Don’t you have a badge that tells you the parts of the airplane?” he demanded of Huey. He glanced at his phone again and it kept vibrating. It didn’t look like Scrooge was letting up any time soon. Louie wasn’t going to toss his phone out the window, however, and they both knew it. Webby had the sense that Gyro could override Louie blocking his uncle’s number, too.

“Of course there is,” Huey said, a tad testy. “But I don’t--”

“Just yank everything out!” Dewey cried, dashing to meet his younger brother.

“Don’t yank everything out!” Huey objected. “You’ll make us crash!”

“Did somebody say crash?” Launchpad said.

“No!” the children exclaimed.

“Okay, let’s look at this calmly,” Huey suggested. Dewey was looking for a crowbar to begin wrecking the Sunchaser. “If we crash, we won’t get anywhere near the Stone. And it might be hundreds or thousands of miles from where we need to be. So no wrecking the plane, Dewey. And I’m not sure where the GPS is.”

“He could be tracking us right now!” Louie objected. “We need to get that disabled right away!”

“He could be tracking us on our phones, too,” Huey reminded him. “And you might’ve thrown Webby’s out the window, but there’s still ours. Not to mention Launchpad’s phone. We’re not high enough up that calls won’t go through. Unless you’re planning on throwing out four phones and sending us plummeting to our deaths?”

“Okay, so this wasn’t well thought out,” Louie allowed. He growled at his phone. “Stop ringing!”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” Huey said sarcastically.

“We should turn back,” Webby said, despondent. “He’ll catch up to us anyway.”

“No, we can’t give up. We’re in enough trouble. We have to go through with it,” Louie protested.

Sighing, Huey answered his phone. “Yes, Uncle Scrooge? Oh...it’s Uncle Donald.”

He frowned as Donald chewed him out. Though Webby couldn’t distinguish the individual words, she got the gist. The triplets hung their heads as their father figure berated them and then, to compound matters, Della got on the line to chime in. This was followed by Scrooge again.

“We’re not going back,” Huey said firmly. “But...we can wait for you to find us.”

He put the call on speaker.

“Webby, I’m surprised at you,” Wren said. “I thought you had better sense than this.”

“And you left me behind,” Lena snapped. “Thanks, Webs.”

“I’m sorry…” she whispered. “But I have to have the Stone. You don’t understand. Talking to her for five seconds wasn’t enough.”

“Lass, you canne go running off like a chicken without a head,” Scrooge scolded. “Launchpad, land the plane.”

“Crash it?” Launchpad said.

“Don’t be daft! Don’t crash!” Scrooge said and then sighed. “You’re going to crash it anyway, aren’t you?”

“Anything you say, Mr. McDee!” Launchpad announced cheerfully and Webby could practically hear Uncle Scrooge facepalming.

“As for you lot, stay where you are,” Scrooge continued. “We’ll bring supplies and, since Webbigail forced the issue, we’ll go hunting for the Stone. But you do as I say, exactly as I say, and no exceptions. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Uncle Scrooge,” they chorused.

Things could’ve gone worse. At least he hadn’t ordered them to retreat this time. And Webby’s need for the Stone burned within her. She knew she was being selfish and putting the others, as well as herself, at risk. She also knew Lena was upset over being left behind. She hadn’t meant to abandon her; it’d been a spur of the moment thing. Ever since her grandmother had died, she’d reacted spontaneously or without much forethought. She was becoming more and more impulsive, which was the triplets’ behavior more than hers.

She lowered her head.

“Webbigail, I dinnae think the Stone is the panacea you think it is,” Scrooge said softly. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Yes, Uncle Scrooge,” she murmured.

“Do not crash,” Scrooge snapped at Launchpad.

“I heard ‘crash’,” Launchpad replied.

“Curse me kilts! Don’t you dare crash the Sunchaser or I’m taking the repairs out of your salary for the next ten years!” Scrooge snapped.

“Aye, aye, Mr. McDee,” Launchpad said, though Webby thought she heard the sadness in his voice. Maybe he’d really been looking forward to crashing. He was a strange man-child.

“Stay,” Scrooge commanded and then the call ended.

“Like we’re pet dogs,” Louie scoffed.

“I know this isn’t how you pictured things going,” Huey said, wrapping an arm about Webby’s shoulders. “But at least we’re headed in the right direction.”

“Yeah,” she said, unable to muster any enthusiasm in wake of Scrooge’s anger and his voicing her own worries about the Stone. “We’ll get there.”

Whether the Stone would be there or whether it’d do anything remained to be seen. Of course, there was also the problem of Poe and Lena. She sighed, looking out the window. That phone had had her grandmother’s voice on it. It’d only been a couple months and she was already losing her grandmother’s voice. While she didn’t resent Louie for what he’d done, she was morose.

“And we’re all with you,” Dewey added, joining them. “I promise.”

Webby’s beak twitched toward a weak smile. “Thanks, guys.”

It didn’t ease the hollowness in her chest or the misery that threatened to overwhelm her. It didn’t bring her grandmother back or erase what the Bloodhound Gang had done to her. But it was something and for that, she was grateful.

* * *

The flight over was quiet, aside from the adults grumbling. Lena mostly stayed out of the way and skulked over by the furthest wall with her phone. When they gained a certain altitude, she was forced to abandon it. She was too irritated to read, an activity she associated with Webby. Della and Donald were discussing punishments for the boys, Scrooge was grousing to the pilot about the whole situation, and Lena glared at everything.

It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t maintain Mrs. Beakley’s form. Webby couldn’t have given her credit for the little time she’d managed. No, she’d turned it back on her. Not in so many words, but in an effective enough way that Lena had no doubt she was being spurned. She wasn’t good enough. The story of her life.

They had arranged a rendezvous point about halfway to the Stone’s reported location. Once there, this plane would return to Duckburg and they would continue in the Sunchaser. Lena wasn’t sure why she was here, anyway. They hadn’t let her stay back at the manor, but Lena didn’t see the point in her accompaniment. What could she accomplish? Webby wasn’t listening to her.

As for the Stone, Webby deserved it more than Lena did. Poe was on Lena’s shoulder and she ignored him. Poe had never protected her from Magica’s wrath. Even if he wanted to turn over a new leaf now, that didn’t indemnify him from his absence her entire life. If anything, it made him more culpable, because he had no valid excuse.

Rationally, she knew some, if not all of this, was Webby lashing out after Mrs. Beakley’s death and her rape. She knew the Webby she loved and cared for was still in there. She had to give her time to grieve and return to what passed for normal. Yet although Lena knew all of this, that didn’t stop her from resenting it. Webby had such a great support system. Even without her grandmother, she had a family in the triplets, Donald, and Scrooge. What did Lena have? A raven and a moody girlfriend. Whoop de fucking doo.

She knew that brooding only exacerbated the issue. Hell, she had plenty of experience in brooding. It wasn’t like there’d been much else to do when Magica had taunted her or brooded herself. It must’ve been a family trait.

“You all right, lass?” Scrooge asked and she cut her gaze to him. He sat beside her in a plush, better than first class could ever hope to get on a commercial airplane, seat. For someone whom she’d never seen drink alcohol, he was nursing a Scotch, which surprised her. Webby must’ve shot his nerves to hell. Lena raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment on the booze. She’d imbibed alcohol herself before, to Magica’s disapproval. Of course, anything that earned Magica’s disapproval in those days was tempting.

“Peachy,” Lena said. She didn’t look at him but stared out the window at the clouds.

“You know, Magica isn’t your legal guardian,” Scrooge said softly.

“I’m not part of the Duck family. Don’t even try,” Lena said flatly.

“You are,” Scrooge said softly, insistently. “And we’ve not been treating you fairly. And I’m sorry.”

Lena folded her arms across her chest. “Well, once Poe’s restored, you can go back to whatever.”

“No,” Scrooge said. “You’re a member of the family whether you like it or not. Besides, you cannae tell me you’d rather be homeless with someone you dinnae know than live in the manor with people who love and care about you.”

“‘People?’ Plural?” she shot back.

“Yes, people, plural. You’d be surprised, Lena.”

“I’ll bet,” she said sarcastically.

“How about another outing? Just you and me? We dinnae have to invite Webby if you don’t want to.”

Lena flushed, strangely touched. She ducked her head to conceal a smile. “If you’re not too busy counting your money, old man.”

“Nah, I figure I’ll let Louie count it for me and then see what happens when he tries to steal it from the Bin,” Scrooge teased back.

Lena rolled her eyes and let him see her smiling. “You’ve got a deal. If you don’t die first. You are really old, after all.”

“I may be older than you, lass, but I’m tougher than the toughies and smarter than the smarties,” he shot back.

“So, you’re a candy?”

“Wait, what?”

“Smarties are a candy. They taste like chalk.”

She stopped, seeing his baffled expression. “Never mind. You really are out of touch.”

The rendezvous point, she could see, was coming up soon. Scrooge left her side to confer with the pilot and she was grateful Della didn’t take his seat and attempt what would’ve been an awkward tete a tete. Speaking of awkward, she’d forgotten Wren, who was standing in the corner and looking like she wanted to blend in with the scenery. Lena didn’t know how that was possible.

There was another delinquent parent. Only this time, she had even less of an excuse than Poe did. Needless to say, Lena did not think well of her. She didn’t know why she was here. It wasn’t like Webby listened to her. She was more inclined to agree with Lena than with her absentee mother.

To Lena’s disgust, Wren sat beside her.

“You know, this is your fault,” Lena said, not mincing words.

“I know,” Wren said, surprising her. “I take full responsibility for this.”

That took her aback.

“I need to talk to her again if she’ll listen.”

“Same here,” Lena sighed. She twiddled her amulet around her neck. Somehow, she had to prove to Webby that her powers were sufficient to retain Mrs. Beakley’s incorporeal form without the Stone. Maybe the Stone would help, but it wasn’t a permanent solution. They didn’t even know how long the Stone would last or if its effects wore off. There were so many things they didn’t know...magic was hard to predict and often mercurial.

“I hope everyone’s all right. I’ve heard some less than reputable things about Launchpad’s flight record.”

Lena snorted. “They’re all true.”

Wren blanched. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“How could he retain such a dangerous pilot and driver?”

She shrugged. “Ask Moneybags. I’m just along for the ride.”

“I think I will,” Wren announced, jumping to her feet just as they landed. Beside them, she could see the Sunchaser had landed as well, although it wasn’t in mint condition anymore. Lena was unsurprised. She’d have been shocked if Launchpad had stuck the landing.

  
Now came the fun part, dealing with the fallout.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hard to believe, but this will be done soon. Then it'll just be two fics left (since I finished Night of the Hunter on LJ).

“So...how mad do you think they are with us? On a scale of one to ten?” Louie asked casually, waiting as the Sunchaser touched down. Webby wrung her hands and looked ill. Launchpad opened up the cockpit door and, on the other side, stood Scrooge McDuck, Della Duck, Wren Beakley, and Lena de Spell, the lattermost scowling at Webby.

 

“We did this for Webby,” Louie said when he saw his great-uncle. “This isn’t our fault. It’s not Webby’s fault either, so don’t be mad at her.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Scrooge said, eyes narrowing at Webby. “You commandeered the Sunchaser, as well as Launchpad, and you set off without any adult supervision. I understand your need to talk to your granny, lass, but you cannae run off like this.”

 

“I’m an adult,” Launchpad offered.

 

“No, you’re not,” Scrooge said, shooting him down. Dismissing him, he turned back to Webby. “Now, lass, we’re going to locate the Stone of Remembrance and we’re going to do it my way. Do you understand?”

 

She nodded and he squeezed her shoulder. The others gathered inside the Sunchaser and Launchpad hastily rigged a few more seats, though they looked like they’d blow away in a gust. That was less encouraging. Then again, it wasn’t like Launchpad was known for being a paragon of safety.

 

Scrooge commanded Launchpad to bring on the supplies he’d had from the other ship, since, in their madcap race to leave Duckburg, they hadn’t been amply stocked. Webby averted her eyes as the reminder didn’t help. She couldn’t help but recall another time on the Sunchaser where she’d sequestered herself with the boys inside a crate while they tried to work out Della’s mystery. That had nearly gotten Dewey killed and herself almost exiled from the McDuck/Duck family, not to mention being an awkward flight back. But at least Mrs. Beakley had been alive during that. Somehow, that didn’t make things any better. Yes, she missed her grandmother dearly, but she didn’t miss that moment, where Scrooge had lashed out like a wounded, cornered animal.

 

Once en route, Webby received another lecture from Scrooge, this one far more detailed. Throughout it all, Webby nodded and murmured acquiescence, figuring Scrooge didn’t care for embellishment. She’d had enough lectures to understand when she should keep her mouth shut. Finally, he finished and she glanced at the boys and Lena. Though Lena met her gaze, she didn’t say anything.

 

From what she could gather, Lena wasn’t talking to her, which made Webby’s stomach turn over from guilt. Clearly, despite what Louie had said, Lena considered this her fault. She was sorry for leaving her girlfriend in the lurch, for whatever it was worth. Somehow, she doubted Lena wanted to hear that.

 

Hanging her head after Scrooge’s lecture, she pulled out a book about the Stone. Poe had snuck along in Lena’s bag and he squawked in Lena’s ear. It was clear that the raven didn’t have an “indoor” voice. Lena sighed, rolling her eyes, and jumped down into the hold, where Webby was sitting up against a large crate.

 

“I can deal with my father stuck as a raven, if it helps,” Lena said, sitting beside her. “I know you need your grandmother more than I need a bird that wasn’t even there for most of my life. He didn’t stop Magica from possessing me, he didn’t stop her from ruining my life, and he showed up out of nowhere after everything that’s gone down.”

 

Poe squawked indignantly. “Couldn’t! Magica--stopped!”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time,” she scoffed. “I didn’t believe you then, either.”

 

“I’m sorry for leaving you back at the manor,” Webby mumbled. “I shouldn’t have. And I should stop lashing out at you.”

 

Lena shrugged. “Like I’ve said before, I’ve always made a convenient target.”

 

“No!”

 

She was appalled that she might be lumped in with Magica in any way. Her hands shook and she hugged Lena tightly. She was not that monster. She was not the woman who had attempted to ruin Lena’s life and had very nearly succeeded. Webby was supposed to be better than that.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

 

Lena’s beak quirked toward a weak smile. “I get it, pink. I get it.”

 

“I never meant to hurt you. I’ll never do it again.”

 

“You can’t say that. You never know.”

 

Webby was pained, but, more than that, she was indignant. Had she broken Lena’s trust? Was that why she was acting like this? It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize again, but, instead, she whipped out a knife she probably had no business carrying. Lena’s eyes bulged.

 

“What the hell are you doing with that?”

 

Lena yanked her out of the line of sight of any of the adults, just in case they caught wind of the nearly thirteen-year-old brandishing a weapon. They had enough trouble without inviting more.

 

“I’ll swear a blood oath.”

 

“How long have you been carrying that?” Lena asked, nonplussed.

 

“Since I thought I could use it.”

 

On the plus side, it wasn’t a butcher knife. It was a pen-knife, one that she could comfortably keep on her person without arousing suspicion. She had the feeling that if Scrooge or the others had seen it, it would’ve been confiscated. In terms of protection, it offered a little, but Webby knew the value of the right move at the right time. If she had had this with the Bloodhound Gang...well, maybe not. Maybe it wouldn’t have had much effect, considering she’d been held at gunpoint, but she liked to imagine it would’ve made a difference.

 

“I’ll swear a blood pact,” Webby said. She was dead serious.

 

“Don’t you think they’ll notice if you bleed all over the hold?” Lena pointed out. She’d gotten over her shock relatively fast, but then again, they’d been promising blood oaths to each other forever. They just hadn’t done one yet for whatever reason.

 

“The way Launchpad pilots, it wouldn’t be that big a surprise if I nicked myself on a crate,” she replied and Lena snorted.

 

“Good point.”

 

Steeling herself for the pain, she sliced into her palm. The knife was sharper than she’d expected, however, and she hissed in pain. Lena’s eyes widened and she cradled Webby’s bloody hand in hers.

 

“I’m fine. Just do yours,” Webby said, knowing Lena was fretting now that Webby had cut too deep and that she might bleed everywhere. In retrospect, cutting her palm when she was due for a good, long climb might not have been the brightest of ideas. However, she couldn’t back down now. She wasn’t going to blame it on Launchpad when the adults discovered it, but she didn’t have a good explanation, regardless. After everything that had happened, perhaps they’d write it off as another oddity.

 

Lena sliced her palm too, much shallower than Webby’s, and Webby smiled weakly, chagrined. They pressed their palms together and a magical spark leapt between them. Lena smiled back.

 

“There. Now we’re official,” Lena said. “Let me see if I can heal you before the adults find out and freak on us.”

 

Webby waited, watching as Lena worked her often unpredictable magic. The flesh knitted back together, but imperfectly. It looked like it’d healed somewhat, being a few hours old rather than a new gash. Lena sighed, disappointed in herself, and clenched her eyes shut for a second attempt. Webby was about to tell her that it was all right, that she didn’t mind, that Lena was doing the best she could and she couldn’t fault her for that.

 

She was when Lena’s power amped it up and broke off the knob, so to speak. A surge of magic rushed into Webby, lifted her up off the floor, and then threw her into the crate. Dazed, Webby struggled back to her feet and rubbed the back of her head. On the plus side, her hand was unblemished now, with only a small scar to remind her of their oath. It occurred to Webby belatedly that Lena hadn’t healed herself.

 

“Sorry, sorry. I told you I can’t control it,” Lena hissed.

 

“What in blazes is going on down there?” Scrooge demanded, looking into the hold. A figure floated up between the crates and the girls. It was transparent and it wore Mrs. Beakley’s face. Startled, Lena fell backward, the amulet glowing in her hands. Mrs. Beakley remained and Webby’s heart kicked into overdrive.

 

“She’s not bound to the manor...she’s bound to you,” Lena breathed. Mrs. Beakley’s image flickered in and out again, but this time, it held, albeit slightly grainy like they were looking at her through an antennae reception.

 

“How is she appearing here, now?” Webby asked. The boys had scrambled over to take a look too and sweat trickled down Lena’s face. If last time was anything to go by, this was straining her resources. Webby’s palm tingled and she glanced down at it. It was possible that whatever had leapt between them had given her grandmother enough power to manifest.

 

“Curse me kilts!” Scrooge exclaimed.

 

“Off to take the kids on another ill-fated adventure, Mr. McDuck?” Mrs. Beakly asked. Her voice was faint as if reaching them from a deep tunnel. Webby squealed, springing at her grandmother and then falling through. Suddenly, her heart felt like it was full to bursting. She had so much she wanted to tell her, so much to say. It hurt that she couldn’t hold and be held by her grandmother, but that didn’t matter right now. Mrs. Beakley was here and she could communicate with them.

 

“I’m off to take them to find a stone to enable Webbigail to talk to you,” Scrooge said and frowned. “How, er, how are you doing that?”

 

“As Lena said, I’m bound to Webby, but…” Mrs. Beakley frowned. “I don’t think I have enough strength to keep this up for very long. Newly manifesting ghosts don’t have the longevity that others, like Duckworth do.”

 

She hissed at Duckworth’s name. “Duckworth will never let me live this down.”

 

“Then...we dinnae need the Stone?” Scrooge asked.

 

“It would amplify her power and enable to remain longer,” Huey said, reading from one of the books Webby had brought along. He studied Mrs. Beakley with curiosity and she wished she could tell everyone to leave so she could have time alone with her. Her throat was tight.

 

“But time will do that anyway,” Mrs. Beakley said and studied Webby. “I know what happened, you know.”

 

“You said that,” Webby replied, frustrated. “But you didn’t explain.”

 

“I was there when---”

 

Launchpad hit turbulence so fierce that it threw everyone sideways. Lena lost her grip on her amulet and Mrs. Beakley poofed out of existence. Despite crashing into the crate again, Webby was more distressed by her grandmother’s abrupt absence. She was there when what? She couldn’t have been there when the Bloodhound Gang had defiled her. When she’d killed their leader? When Wren had returned?

 

“Mother…” Wren whispered and tears streaked her cheeks. Webby wouldn’t let herself cry. She’d done enough of that lately. It was time to be strong, no matter how much she felt like crumpling to the floor and sobbing.

 

Lena looked drained, not as bad as she had when she’d passed out in the manor, but wan and pale. Her feathers weren’t fluffy, either, and Webby, as soon as she gained her feet again, rushed over to her girlfriend. She wanted to preen her; however, they were in public, so to speak.

 

“Lena!” Poe squawked, dismayed. “Lena, Lena, Lena!”

 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me, you stupid crow,” Lena muttered and Poe squawked again, this time offended.

 

“Not crow. Raven,” he growled.

 

“Are you all right, lass? You lot should come up here and buckle in,” Scrooge said. “Come on, now.”

 

Casting one last glance at where her grandmother had stood, Webby abandoned her post and resumed her seat up top. As she did, she noted her mother sniffling and hugging herself. Webby ought to comfort her, but she was afraid it’d open up another can of worms she wasn’t yet ready to tackle. Her mother would probably want to console her, which was the last thing she wanted right now. The revelations and uncovering of her feelings would happen once she had the Stone, not a minute earlier.

 

A tingle went down Webby’s spine and she glanced over her shoulder; there was nothing there. Perturbed, she buckled herself in and checked on Lena, who was investigating her amulet. Webby saw nothing different about it, but Lena must’ve because she frowned deeply.

 

“What?” Webby asked.

 

“A small, hairline crack…” Lena mused. “Ugh. I feel like I could sleep forever and still be tired.”

 

“We still have a good eleven hours until we reach the Stone’s last known location. Might as well make the most of it,” Scrooge said.

 

“Darkwing Duck?” Launchpad suggested innocently.

 

“No!” Louie cried. “I’d rather jump out of the plane!”

 

“You don’t like Darkwing?” Launchpad replied, sounding hurt.

 

“There’s a time and a place for it,” Louie said. “Not here. And not now.”

 

“We might as well get some sleep,” Scrooge said, attempting to smooth Launchpad’s ruffled feathers. “It’s gonna be a while.”

 

* * *

 

 

In retrospect, perhaps Glomgold’s brilliant plan hadn’t been all that brilliant. On the plus side, since he hadn’t actually kidnapped anyone, just put them in a net, the police had been forced to let him go. He didn’t think he’d pursue Della again, anyway. After seeing how she and Webby had fought, he concluded it wasn’t worth it.

 

Besides, while he was fussing over Scrooge McDuck’s family (“you think you’re so rich and so Scottish!”), Mark Beaks was threatening to take over his position as the second richest duck/person in the world. True, Beaks was a parrot, not a duck, but it still ticked him off. How dare a young upstart threaten his position in the world. He’d better figure out a way to dethrone him or at least put him in his place.

 

He wished he had Scrooge to help with that, though. As much as he loathed him, it was a familiar, safe kind of hatred. He didn’t want him dead. He wouldn’t mind him humiliated and a pauper, but death was too far. And besides...Glomgold would miss him. He was, don’t tell anyone, a trifle fond of Scrooge in a weird way. The older duck was a mainstay in his life, even when things flew off the handle as they so frequently did.

 

If he wanted to be generous, as a way of compensating for his misdeeds, he could release those tapes to Scrooge’s family and then purge them from his computers. Glomgold debated whether he wanted to be that considerate. On the one hand, it’d be doing Scrooge a favor, but on the other, what did he really need those tapes for? Blackmail? Well...blackmail was tempting if he could get ahold of John D. Rockerduck. That seemed a rather small possibility, however. In the meanwhile, he could put out feelers for him and see where that got him.

 

But Scrooge hadn’t seen or heard the last of Flintheart Glomgold. He’d always be there, lurking and ready to make his next move. One day, Scrooge McDuck would slip up and it’d be up to him to swoop in and cause his fall from grace. He greatly looked forward to it.

 

As for now, however, he thought he’d release most of the tapes to the McDuck family. Just...not the one where Della confessed who the triplets’ father might be. As insurance.

 

You could never have too much blackmail on a person.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end. The next chapter is the epilogue, I believe.

Throughout their trek, Webby was alternately anxious and excited. She rambled, more than she had in a while, but it was about nothing in particular. As she talked, Lena touched her amulet and, a couple times, Mrs. Beakley’s image flared up only to die away again. Every time, Lena grew more and more drained, but she persisted. She didn’t want Webby to feel alone and thought to see her grandmother would help.

 

Whether it did or didn’t, Lena didn’t know. However, she knew that she was cutting it close. If she expended any more magic, she’d end up falling flat on her face and the way Webby was carrying on, it might be a half hour to an hour before she noticed her girlfriend was missing. It wasn’t worth the risk. Besides, once they found the Stone, then Webby could have a decent conversation with her grandmother.

 

The group was grim as they proceeded deeper into the cave. The temperature had dropped dramatically and Lena shivered, goosebumps along her arms. Launchpad had remained with the Sunchaser and he was the only one who might’ve been able to dispel the dark mood settling over them. Scrooge wasn’t speaking and the boys seemed uneasy with Webby being a chatterbox. A few months ago, the change might’ve been welcome. Now, not so much.

 

Even without concentrating, Lena could sense Mrs. Beakley hovering near Webby. It was freaky. It was also ironic, in that the one person who needed to speak with her couldn’t see her without a boost. Lena suppressed a sigh. If Mrs. B hadn’t approved of her before, she didn’t see her approving of her now that she’d been instrumental in her death, even if it’d been Magica controlling her body.

 

They descended along a steep decline with a slippery floor and conversation dropped entirely. It took all their focus to keep their footing and there was no time for anything else. They seemed to descend forever, their breath fogging in front of them, and when they finally hit level ground, it was pitch dark. Scrooge shone his flashlight about to illuminate stalactites and stalagmites. Lena neither knew nor cared what the difference between the two was. She’d gone to a few boarding schools, but she didn’t really give a fuck about education.

 

“How much further is this?” Huey asked, shivering and rubbing his arms.

 

“I can sense it,” Lena said quietly and all eyes turned to her. “It’s glowing faintly in my mental vision--it’s directly ahead. Another...I guess...hour walk?”

 

The triplets groaned. Webby darted ahead and Scrooge grabbed her back.

 

“You’re not rushing ahead, lassie,” he scolded. “That’s what got you into this mess. You’re going to walk with us where it’s safe.”

 

Lena didn’t know whether “safe” entered into this equation. If it was a prized magical artifact, then someone was bound to have placed magical wards around it. Moreover, even if there were more mundane traps, running headlong into the Stone would trigger them. Lena wished she could determine what surrounded the stone, but her mental vision only extended so far. Without Magica to amplify her innate power, Lena was grasping at straws.

 

There was a ley line beneath the cave, which helped. If she could tap into that, perhaps she could better discern their surroundings. Closing her eyes, she reached out with her magical senses. It felt like extending her hand for a handshake.

 

Poe squawked, reminding Lena yet again that he was there, and then took off. Lena was torn between dashing after him and remaining here, especially since Webby needed her. Despite not being psychically linked to her, she could feel the lump in Webby’s throat. She inclined her head for Lena to follow Poe and Lena shook hers back. She wasn’t going to abandon Webby in her time of need. Not again.

 

Reaching her hand out, she took Webby’s and interlaced their fingers. Lena had already decided she didn’t want the Stone. Poe’s need was not as great as Webby’s. Plus, it was Lena’s fault Webby wanted it in the first place. If she hadn’t killed Mrs. Beakley…

 

They proceeded in silence, heavy with portents. Lena lost track of her footsteps or how long they’d been proceeding when they entered a chamber in which a stone the size of her fist glowed in green. As soon as they approached it, the temperature dropped to below freezing and her beak chattered. The floor was ice and one wrong step might trigger a trap door. Lena ventured forth first and Scrooge pushed her back.

 

“I’m the oldest, so I’m taking the risks here, lassie,” he scolded. “And don’t think I dinnae know about your guilt over what happened and your attempts to ‘make it better’. You’ve been trying that for too long for me not to have noticed.”

 

Scrooge inched forward and, true to form, a trapdoor opened, spewing hot fire that shot straight up into the air. It was timed; after a minute, the door closed again. Scrooge waited until he had the rhythm down and then gestured for the others to follow him. From there, spears flew out of the walls and they flattened themselves to the floor. They also slid as they did so and Lena shuddered, the cold penetrating her feathers and seeming to linger in her bones.

 

Webby lunged forward and snagged the Stone, which was on a pedestal. Skeletal hands reached for it too and while the others were figuring out how to react, Scrooge smacked the bones with his cane. Lena shut her eyes, focused on the ley line, and sensed the power animating the corpse. She cut its strings and the Stone fell into Webby’s hands; the skeleton collapsed into a heap of bones and then dust.

 

At last, Webby had the Stone in her grasp. Even with her eyes closed, Lena saw it glowing. Poe squawked, flying over them, and Lena clenched her beak. No, he wasn’t having this. This Stone belonged to Webby, not to an idiot who couldn’t even protect her when she needed it most.

 

“Well?” Scrooge asked quietly. “Aren’t you gonna activate it?”

 

The Stone glowed brighter, almost like it was radioactive, and Mrs. Beakley’s image appeared, no longer see-through but almost as it had in real life, save for the wavering edges.

 

“Granny!” Webby said and the boys backed up, as did Scrooge. Lena was tempted to inch closer, but she figured that for the first full conversation Webby was due to have with her grandmother post mortem, she deserved her privacy.

 

* * *

 

 

“This is better,” Mrs. Beakley said, casting her gaze about her. “Aside from the poor lighting. I’m glad to see you again, Webby.”

 

“What did you mean before?” Webby pressed, unable to hold back. “That you knew what happened. That you saw it.”

 

“I saw the Bloodhound Gang,” Mrs. Beakley said and if her tone could have caused the temperature to drop further, they would have all died from hypothermia. Her eyes flashed. “I saw what they did to you. I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I would have killed them before they even got close enough to do that.”

 

“Aren’t you upset with me?” she said, her throat burning and her chest tight. “I let them attack me. I let them...I let them…”

 

She still couldn’t say it, even after all this time. She trembled, hugging herself, and Mrs. Beakley put a transparent hand on her shoulder. Webby couldn’t feel the gesture physically, but she felt it emotionally just the same.

 

“You didn’t let them do anything,” Mrs. Beakley said fiercely. “You fought them off as best you could and I’m proud of you, Webby. I know you’ve blamed yourself for what happened, but it’s not your fault. You didn’t make the decision to hurt yourself. You thought you were in a safe area and you weren’t. It’s not your fault.

 

“Webbigail, they had guns. I never taught you how to disarm two men with guns simultaneously. It would have been dicey regardless. You didn’t do anything wrong. And I’m proud of you for killing the leader, though I know the first kill is difficult.”

 

Webby nodded, her throat too tight to permit speech.

 

“I love you. I will always love you. I would never have held you responsible for what happened,” she said and then glanced over at Lena. “And tell your girlfriend that I don’t blame her for what happened either. Even when I haven’t been able to manifest myself without the Stone, I’ve been watching everything.”

 

Her eyes narrowed. “Duckworth is even more annoying dead than he ever was alive.”

 

Webby swallowed again.

 

Mrs. Beakley rested her hands on her granddaughter’s shoulders. “Webby. You’re stronger than you think you are. I trained you, after all, didn’t I? And you don’t need to keep hiding your emotions or pushing people away.”

 

She frowned. “Speaking of which, where is Wren? I know she was here before.”

 

“She’s with Launchpad on the ship,” Webby murmured softly. “Her and Della.”

 

“She’d better be serious about taking care of you,” Mrs. Beakley warned. “You need a calming influence.”

 

“I need you,” Webby managed through a tight throat. “I need you to come back. I don’t even know my mom. You raised me.”

 

“I never went anywhere. I’m never going to go anywhere. I’ll be with you, always, even when you can’t see or hear me. Even without the Stone. I’ll gain the strength to manifest without it soon enough, give it a few months. I promise--I’m not leaving your side.”

 

This was too much. Hugging herself, she swiped at the tears that threatened to fall. Her beak quivered.

 

“I love you too, Granny…” she whispered.

 

Clutching the Stone to her chest, she made her way carefully back toward the others. Poe alighted onto Lena’s shoulder and Webby held out the Stone to Lena.

 

“What?” Lena said, frowning. “I don’t want this. It’s yours, Webby. I’m the reason you need it. I took your grandmother away from you.”

 

“I’ll be back with or without the Stone,” Mrs. Beakley said, drifting over to them. “It isn’t necessary.”

 

“I want you to have it,” Webby pressed. “You need your father. You deserve to be happy, Lena.”

 

“I am happy,” she pressed. “I have you, don’t I? And Uncle Scrooge...and I guess the triplets too…”

 

“Granny said it wasn’t necessary,” she pressed. “Take it and do the ritual.”

 

“When she can manifest on her own without the Stone, then I will,” Lena retorted. “Unless there’s some sort of time constraint I’m not aware of?”

 

“No,” Poe said and sounded resigned. Then again, if he was going to be stuck as a raven, he might as well get used to it. Lena had no intention of obliging him when she considered him at fault for all the truly shitty stuff Magica had put her through.

 

“We have the Stone,” Huey said. “We should go...before anything else explodes. Or before we freeze to death in here.”

 

Webby and Lena nodded and Webby reached out for Lena’s hand. Lena took it and they intertwined fingers again. Then, with Mrs. Beakley floating behind them and keeping an eye out for trouble, they headed back toward the ship and, from there, home.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this epilogue kinda sucks, but I didn't know what to write for this fic anymore and I just wanted it to be over with.

 

Della Duck was not okay. She might not be for a long time. However, she knew she needed to pull herself together, for her sake and her family’s. If that meant leaning on Donald, then that was what she’d have to do. Donald knew her boys far better than she did and she would forever carry the guilt of that. For now, however, she’d have to ignore it. 

 

She was still going to get Gyro back for that awful black licorice Oxy-Chew, though. No one should have to chew that much black licorice in general, let alone to survive on the moon. Sometimes, when she wasn’t thinking, she could still taste it on her tongue and she shuddered. At least she hadn’t seriously injured herself when she’d crashed, other than her pride and her chances of seeing her boys grow up. But that didn’t mean she didn’t bear other scars, harder to discern, but no less real.

 

Mrs. Beakley had become a ghostly fixture about the house and constantly bickered with Duckworth, which would be amusing if it weren’t so sad. Still, it seemed to be pacifying Webby and although Lena still felt guilty over Mrs. Beakley’s death, she was slowly coming to terms with the fact that it wasn’t her fault. Webby, meanwhile, was coming to terms with what was and wasn’t her fault, including her therapist working her through what had happened with the Bloodhound Gang.

 

As for Poe, Lena had restored him, though she didn’t seem entirely pleased about it. Their relationship was strained, much like Wren with Webby and Della with her boys. It seemed like everyone was going to have to learn to trust one another more, but trust and respect had to be earned. It was an uphill battle.

 

Perhaps, in some distant time, they would be all right. Not perfect, but then again, after everything that had happened, they could never really return to normal again. Then again, maybe after all of this, the new normal would be acceptable. Maybe some day, Webby would turn to Wren with her problems, much as Lena might to Poe, and the boys to Della. 

 

Until then, Della reflected, they had to settle in and wait. It wasn’t like she didn’t have long years of experience doing that on the moon. That didn’t mean she liked it any, but it was what it was. She’d take what she could get. One day at a time. 

  
  



End file.
